


The Sixth Soul

by ParaParano



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Happens before the events of Undertale, Human Asgore - Freeform, M/M, Pre-CORE accident Gaster, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2018-10-03 20:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10257023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParaParano/pseuds/ParaParano
Summary: Asgore is the sixth human to have fallen into the Underground. WD Gaster is determined to hunt him down and take his soul.





	1. Remembering How I Got Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for stopping by to check out this fic. This is my first time posting to AO3, so if anything's out of place, please do let me know. If you have any comments or questions, please leave a comment, or find me at http://thededicatedscientist.tumblr.com. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy. c:

Asgore had lost track of time. He could not count how many hours he had spent wandering Snowdin, or how much time had passed since he had left the Ruins, or how many days had gone by since his fall. Less than a week, he felt, but more than several days. Now he laid on the riverbanks of Waterfall, gazing at the ceiling stars. He pondered where he would go, where he had come from, the monsters he had met, and what he would do next. He did not know how long he had laid there.

What he did know was that he liked it here. Asgore was not made for city living. He far preferred the great outdoors, the clear air and broad skies and wide open plains. He would spend his every spare moment tending to his garden, or wandering the forests on the outskirts of town, or trekking through the mountains. It was during one such excursion that he had stumbled upon the entrance to the Underground, and the world of monsters that awaited him beneath.

Old carvings and murals etched into crumbling walls told Asgore the story of the Underground, and how monsterkind had come to be here. They had remained lost to human history since time immemorial, imprisoned by a magical barrier that kept them trapped within Mt Ebott’s myriad tunnels and caverns. In the war between monsters and humans, Asgore’s species had emerged the absolute victor, and monsterkind was left to rot underground.

He pondered this as he gazed at the glowing rocks that peppered the cavern’s ceiling. The monsters called them “ceiling stars”. An apt name, he thought; these little lights could certainly be compared to stars lighting up a night sky. They presented a kind of charm that permeated Waterfall’s otherwise chilling atmosphere. But their dim glow could not be compared to the twinkle of real stars. Asgore felt he was beginning to understand why the monsters trapped in the Underground might miss the surface as much as they did.

Still, he could not quite see eye-to-eye with them. Not a single acre of the surface’s most outstanding nature reserves could compare with the Underground, and it had utterly fascinated him. In the few days (weeks?) he had spent wandering the forgotten world beneath Mt Ebott, he had discovered all manner of flora and fauna that would boggle the minds of even the most travelled geographers. Trees so tall they might have touched the ceiling, freshly laid snow with no clue as to how it was precipitated, gems that served as the monsters’ primary light source, sentient rocks, sentient vegetables, sentient _snowmen_ , and a tree that was in a constant state of wilting, but never dying.

Asgore knew full well he could have stayed in Snowdin. The shopkeep had been kind, and patient with his lacking knowledge of monster history. He had tried to settle down for a power nap in the inn, but had been kept awake by the cacophony coming from his neighbours’ bedroom. The way their snores had risen together in harmony had made him giggle so much, sleep became impossible. He chose instead to spend his refunded money at the local bar. It was warm and inviting, almost as much as its patrons were. And they had all been very happy to see that Asgore had brought the skeleton brothers home safely, after they had gotten lost in the forest when a game of hide-and-seek had gone on too long.

He could have stayed. He would have been comfortable, well-fed, and safe. Instead, he had chosen to rest in Waterfall, where it was cold, and damp, and windy, and plagued by an atmosphere that pressed ever closer. It was beautiful, certainly, but never quite tranquil. There was something in the air here. Something off, something discomfiting. A terrible presence that should never dare to set foot in this rainy sanctuary.

But Asgore was fine with that. Because Waterfall had flowers.

They were unlike anything he had ever seen. “Echo flowers”, the monsters called them. Big and tall and blue and _glowing_ , very much like sunflowers in appearance, and yet not like sunflowers at all. They came up to Asgore’s waist (and he was not a short man), glowing with as much fervour as the ceiling stars, and they were cool to the touch. They must have been remarkably resilient to be able to grow down here, where there was far too much water, and not a single beam of sunlight.

And most remarkably of all, they talked. The echo flowers were so named for their curious ability to collect and replicate any sound made in their vicinity. Some would collect ambiance: hurried footsteps, rushing waters, air whistling through the tall grass. And some would collect voices. Sometimes entire conversations. Monsters loved to pass messages to each other through these echo flowers: Asgore had learned as much by lending an ear to the whispers of every echo flower he passed. The voices had given him comfort.

And after some contemplation, it gave him an idea. He found a flower near to the riverbank’s entrance, one that was blank, repeating only the ambiance of the rushing water. He chose this one so he wouldn’t have to erase a monster’s message.

“Asriel,” he had said, keeping his voice low and hushed, afraid that it might break. “I have come to find you.”

He had waited for days. That he was certain of. He would sit on the riverbank, and wait, getting up only on occasion to wander back to Snowdin to find food. He came back in a hurry one day when he heard a different sound coming from one of the echo flowers. A response.

It spoke in a voice he did not recognise.

“Who’s Asriel?”

He had settled back down on the riverbank. He draped his coat over himself. He gazed at the ceiling stars, and he waited.

He was very, very tired.

 

\---

 

A cold wind blew. The shadows grew darker, the waters stilled, and even the ceiling stars lost their twinkle. The echo flowers ceased their chatter.

From behind him, a monster approached. It was clad from head to toe in black, and walked with silent grace as it grew ever closer to Asgore. He was stirred into reluctant wakefulness by the howling winds that cut through to his very bones. He grimaced, groaned as he turned over, and seriously considered going back to the inn after all. Then he saw the monster.

He wouldn’t have been able to tell it apart from the shadows if it hadn’t been moving. The long cloak it wore was buffeted by the languid pace at which it walked towards him. Directly towards him. Its eyes were pitch black sockets embedded into an ivory face, its irises little white lights glowing in the darkness. They were glaring at him.

Asgore, immobilised by the creature’s presence, could only watch as it approached, stopping only when it reached the very edge of the riverbank. Its shoulders were squared, its jaw set, and when it spoke, its voice felt as chill as the air.

“Human. Don’t you know how to greet an opponent?”

The wind stopped as the monster summoned his magic. The stone stalactites of the cave ceiling came suddenly into view as the vivid cyan glow cut through the shadows, and took the form of six disembodied hands, forming an arc above him. Asgore stared at them, bewildered.

He had observed a similar behaviour in most of the monsters he had encountered on his travels. They would show them his magic, and what they could do with it. They would make pretty patterns, use it as a tool or means of play, and some would revitalise Asgore’s health.

This was not the same. Not one of them had possessed a magic that resonated with such murderous intent.

“Drop the act,” the monster demanded, “and draw your weapon.”

Asgore picked himself up off the floor, his movements as slow as his thought processes. Before he could think of a plan to save himself, his soul appeared before him. Small, orange, heart-shaped. The monsters had told him that this ethereal energy was indeed his soul: the very culmination of his being. It would manifest itself whenever he encountered a monster.

Asgore drew his brow together, and attempted a friendly smile.

“W-weapon?” he repeated, voice croaky from rest. He cleared his throat, and gestured to his floating soul. “Do you mean this?”

The monster’s eyes thinned. Evidently, his assumption had been incorrect.

“No? But, isn’t this how it’s usually done?” Asgore asked, not yet deterred. Talking and interacting with the other monsters had worked in his favour, and would, so he hoped, be enough to rescue him from this grim visitor. “You want to play one of those magic games, right?”

With an impatient flick of its wrist, the monster’s magic flared, and Asgore jumped when the six hands presented him with their claws. Wrong again.

“Th-the other monsters didn’t ask me to use a weapon,” he pressed on, for once thankful for his habit of talking slowly. “And I’ve not seen blue magic before either. What does that do?”

The monster did not dignify Asgore’s question with an answer. Its brow and lips were drawn into firm lines, thoroughly unimpressed, but at once curious. Asgore, relieved that his plan to buy time was working, continued to ramble.

“Or if you’d rather not give it away, that’s fine!” he said, palms raised in peace as he cautiously edged away from the riverbank. “Though, uhh, I don’t have a weapon on me I’m afraid. I don’t tend to carry that sort of thing around.”

His heart leapt again when his foot collided with something on the ground; for a moment, he thought the monster had somehow attacked him from behind. He smiled with relief when he discovered he had only stepped on a stick. A sturdy one at that; it hadn’t so much as cracked when he had stood on it. This gave him an idea, and he bent down to pick it up.

“Aha, what about this?” he said, brightening as he presented his find to the monster. “I could use this stick here, if that would work-”

If Asgore had blinked, he might not have seen the speed with which the monster’s magic hurtled toward him. In a flash of cyan, a clawed hand took a vicious swipe at his face. Startled, Asgore narrowly dodged it as he stumbled backward, tottering until he fell onto his behind. His fall had not been a dignified one, but at least he had escaped the attack uninjured.

However, his attempts to placate the monster had undoubtedly failed. The other five hands had joined their brother, drawing ever closer as they formed a circle around their target. Trapped, Asgore felt his pulse quicken, and he stared wide-eyed up at the approaching monster.

“We’re not actually going to _fight_ , are we?” he gasped.

“No, we’re not,” it said, far too calm, its silhouette framed in vivid blue light. “I am going to kill you.”


	2. Barrage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned to update this fic monthly, but... My goodness, I've been so blown away by the response it has received, and so eager to post another chapter, I just couldn't wait! I'm so glad you all seem to be enjoying it so far. I hope this next part doesn't disappoint! I've been staring at it for far too long so I'm just going to go ahead and post it before I spend another hour editing it pfff;;
> 
> Thank you again for reading, and I look forward to your feedback! As always, if you want to send me a direct message, please find me at http://thededicatedscientist.tumblr.com
> 
> Have a nice day!

A rock wall exploded. A beam of concentrated magical energy cut through it like it was paper, and amidst the debris and the dust, Asgore made his undignified escape. The monster, propelled by its blue magic, tore after its target at full throttle, a slick shadow slicing through the fog. From behind it, another creature emerged: an enormous disembodied skull, made sentient by its master’s command, capable of producing magic so powerful it could blast through walls. Fearing for his life, Asgore ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Get back here you coward!” the irate monster shouted, teeth bared as it flung more magical hands in Asgore’s direction.

He let out an embarrassing noise as he ducked to avoid the blow. He made a clumsy turn around a dimly lit tunnel, hoping he could lose his pursuer in Waterfall’s winding caverns. But he was quickly running out of familiar territory, and the monster knew the lay of the land far better than he did. It was jumping over hurdles and turning sharp corners while Asgore was still recovering from tumbling over tree roots and slamming into walls. He tripped and stumbled his way through the darkness, over hill and under tree, through the brush until tall grass tangled around his legs and pulled him down to the ground. Panting, he tried to pull himself up, but his hands and feet struggled to find purchase on the muddy earth. A blue light whizzed past his head, barely grazing his hair, and he fell back down with a gasp. He could hear the monster’s magic cleaving through the grass, dicing the blades into jagged chunks and destroying what little cover he had left. Before they could draw him out from his hiding place, he hefted himself to his feet, and revealed himself to the hunter with both hands held high.

“Wait!” he cried, backing away even as he called for peace. “Can’t we talk about this?”

A magic hand rocketed out of the grass. If Asgore hadn’t flinched, he might have lost his nose.

“Stand still!” it snapped, and with a swing of its arm, sent another three hands hurtling in his direction. Asgore yelped and bent double to avoid the attack, hands over his head as the energy shot past, slashing at his forearms as it went. He straightened, gesturing in another attempt to placate the monster.

“I-I don’t understand!” he said, insisting on communication. “What did I do? What do you want?!”

“I want you to _die!_ ”

The monster held out its arm, and a horrible noise like shattering glass pierced the air as it summoned another skull. Rays of light flared from within its gaping maw as it readied another attack. Asgore let out a pathetic yelp, and scrambled to get out of the way. The skull fired its terrible energy at its target, splitting the fog and the fauna in its wake, only to collide with a boulder Asgore had dodged behind. It was enough to defend him from the laser, but only just, as wayward rock shards buried yet more gashes into his back. His defences gone, he had no choice but to keep going, and he ran blindly into the darkness with the monster hot on his heels.

Damp and uneven swampland gave way to bridges of wooden planks as they crossed the river. He ran with greater confidence across the flatter ground, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Though they were much easier to navigate, the pathways limited his means of escape. On top of that, his attempts to flee had done nothing to appease the monster. The further he ran, the more riled his hunter became. Every attack from his magic lashed at him with more vengeance than the last. Asgore thought he was done for when the hands started appearing under his feet, claws grazing his legs and snapping at his ankles like razor-toothed fish.

It was too fast. Everything was moving too fast for Asgore’s mind to keep up. Abandoning logic, he relied upon his instincts to guide him through the barrage. Sparks of pain in his arms and thighs went ignored, and the attacks were coming faster now, chipping away at his legs, his waist, his neck, his HP and he ran, he ran until he could barely breathe, until he couldn’t feel anymore, until there was no ground left to carry him-

He fell.

Everything felt still. The air had stopped. The noises had stopped. His breathing had stopped. He was turning, slowly, watching as the cliff face hurtled past him, turning, reaching, searching for something to break his fall, reaching, but he found nothing. He saw the monster. It was stood at the edge of the cliff, fading from his vision as he fell away. Even from this distance, Asgore could see the triumphant smirk ripping across its face.

And then there was water, and dark, and cold.

The shock brought Asgore out of his stupor. It was freezing, freezing, his injuries burned with pain and he couldn't see a thing. His arms and legs flailed in a desperate attempt to regain his balance, to right himself and to swim - up. Up. Which way was up?

He cracked open his sore eyes and saw blackness, bubbles and debris. His glowing soul provided him with just enough light to reveal his surroundings. He saw the filthy riverbed, the algae and the junk, and something grazed his leg and he didn't want to know what it was. Was it alive? He didn't want to know, but that fright gave him the strength he needed to push his way through the water and pierce the surface, and with a mighty gasp he filled his lungs. Water burst and sloshed around him as he kicked and floundered, coughed and spluttered, shook the water from his hair and face, and blinked the moisture from his eyes until he could see again.

He tried to gather himself, get his bearings. He heard the rushing of the river, the crashing of the waterfall, his own loud and erratic breathing. The waters were deep, and the nearest riverbank was a good distance away. Luckily, the surface was dotted with platforms made of wooden planks. If he could make his way to one of those, he would be safe. However, his heavy clothes were still waterlogged, and the effort it took to keep himself afloat was too great. He wouldn't remain surfaced for long if he couldn't find something nearby that he could hold onto, like a piece of driftwood, or a pole, or-

He saw it. To others it was just a car tyre, but to Asgore, it looked like a lifesaver.

With his health points halved and his energy rapidly diminishing, Asgore relied on his adrenaline to push him in the tyre’s direction. His arms were bleeding still, staining the water red as they sliced through it, and they complained with the effort it took to move. His heart leapt when his hands at last grasped at rubber. He clung to it for dear life, using his body weight to tip it so he could climb inside, much like how he would clamber into a rubber ring. He kicked and pulled, fighting against the water until he could ungraciously flop into the tyre’s centre. Much to his relief, he remained afloat.

When his breathing had at last calmed, he let out a long exhale, and allowed his aching arms to rest. The monster couldn't follow him down here, he thought. He had escaped.

Just when he had settled, he slipped further into the tyre’s centre, and let out a gasp as his backside touched icy water.

This wasn't good. Not only was this position uncomfortable, he couldn't reach the water to paddle with his arms nor his legs. Frustrated, he gripped the rubber with both hands, and pushed. He wriggled. He kicked, he pulled, he flailed.

He was stuck.

Chilling laughter lilted down from above. Asgore watched wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the monster drifted downward, carried by its own magical hands. 

“How the mighty have fallen,” it said, a smug grin on its face as it folded its arms. “Goliath’s own armour was his greatest weakness in the end. And here I thought your imposing size meant you would constitute a challenge.”

Four hands appeared around Asgore’s soul.

“My mistake.”

Asgore started. Still breathless from his fall, his attempt to yell came out as a strangled cry. Though he had played several magic games with the other monsters, he didn't fully understand the rules or how magic worked. All he knew was that if he were to allow his health points to drop to zero, the consequences would be dire.

There was something in the monster’s left eye. Flecks of cyan, the same shade of his magic, were taking form in its eye socket. Or, at least, they were trying to. This magic lacked the conviction and strength with which it had formed the disembodied hands, and remained as sparks, never quite reaching a full flame. It drew a shaky breath, and held out its arm, palm spread.

“Take solace in the knowledge that you die for a better cause than anything your pathetic life would have brought you.”

The hands drew their claws.

“No!” Asgore gasped, writhing in the wheel as he fought to reach for his own soul. “Don't, stop-!”

The heart reacted, and glowed with an orange light. It moved in the direction Asgore gestured, right through the cyan hands keeping it trapped. The magic dissipated at the soul’s touch. And it kept going, heading right for the hands keeping Asgore’s hunter held aloft in the air. They disappeared, and the monster stood midair on nothing.

Gravity took hold. Time seemed to slow as its wide eyed met Asgore’s, gormless expressions frozen on both their faces. Quickly, Asgore reached to catch the monster.

He missed, and it landed in the water with a cry.

All Asgore had managed to grab was his own arms. He winced, bracing for the fury that would inevitably follow. He cracked open one eye in time to see the monster resurface, spitting water and flailing, kicking out its arms and legs as it haplessly tried to stay afloat. It was making quite a fuss, gasping and crying out in shock at the waters’ cold temperatures. Seeing it struggle, Asgore wondered if it could swim.

He leaned over, tipping the tyre so he could reach the monster and pull him out. To Asgore’s surprise, it weighed very little, and he lifted it without much effort. It coughed, hacked, wiped its face and groaned, momentarily stunned by the two sudden shifts in gravity. Coming to its senses, the monster looked at Asgore. Horror filled its eyes. Asgore tried on a sheepish smile, to keep the creature calm and complacent. It didn’t work.

“G- Get off!” it demanded, writhing and thrashing in his grasp. Its magic was reforming, threatening violence if Asgore didn’t comply. “Put me down this instant, human! I'll rend you limb from limb-!”

Asgore dropped it.

It landed once again with a splash, and its floundering resumed.

“Sorry!” Asgore said, gesturing apologetically. “A-are you all right? Can you swim?”

Its only response was yet more flailing. Cyan light was flashing in the water’s depths as the monster attempted to recollect its magic. Asgore supposed it was trying to create another hand-platform to stand on, to save itself. But it couldn’t remain surfaced long enough to focus.

“Oh dear, oh no,” Asgore mumbled, a hand to his face. He looked about himself for a means of helping the monster. There wasn't much he could do while he remained stuck in the tyre. Even if he did manage to pull himself free, the monster may have already drowned by then.

Something bumped up against Asgore’s lifesaver. Somehow, the stick he had picked up at the riverbank had remained on his person during their chase, and was now floating alongside the wheel, just out of Asgore’s reach. He leaned over, paddling and kicking against the water until he could snatch at it. Panting, he held it out to the monster.

“Here!” he called. “Grab hold!”

It had summoned enough magic to keep its legs supported, and was gasping for air as Asgore proffered the stick. It furrowed its brow and curled its lip, apparently confused by Asgore’s gesture. When it realized that he intended to offer it assistance, its expression turned deadly.

“The very insinuation that I would accept help from _you_ …!” it spat. “You must have a death wish!”

Asgore flinched, and almost withdrew his arm. But he set his jaw, and stayed determined.

“So must you,” he said firmly. “Do you want to drown here?”

The monster growled, and opened its mouth to hiss more curses and threats at him. But it lunged with too much force, lost control of its meagre magic, and flopped face-first back into the water.

Its fight to remain surfaced began anew. It thrashed and kicked, spitting and gasping, waving its arms as it blindly reached for something to hold onto. It was here that Asgore found his chance to help. He guided the stick into the path of the monster’s flapping arms and, now that its desire to survive had outweighed its prideful nature, it at last took hold. Asgore pulled, lifting it far enough out of the water that it could catch its breath.

“Don’t worry,” he said, reaching with his free arm to paddle and push them both in the direction of the riverbank. “I’ve got you.”

The monster didn’t look at him, nor did it say a word. They drifted down the river in awkward silence.

Asgore kept his eyes on the riverbank. It wouldn’t take much longer for them to reach the end. Still, he found it difficult to keep himself from fidgeting. He tapped his fingers against the stick, fully aware that the monster hanging from the other end wanted him dead, and would no doubt make another attempt as soon as it was able.

He wondered, if they could just talk this through, perhaps they could come to an agreement? He was certain he hadn’t done anything that deserved such a violent punishment. This was likely just a big misunderstanding, and Asgore could explain himself and settle the matter, if the monster would only give him a chance. He doubted this would happen, for the sulking monster hadn't said a word since its rescue. Asgore supposed he had best make the first move.

“Say, you must be freezing,” he said, mustering the friendliest smile he could. “There’s room up here, on my lap, if you don’t want to stay in the…”

Asgore’s sentenced trailed off as the monster slowly turned its face up to glare at him. Disgust and contempt was etched into its every feature. If it could summon magic from that look alone, Asgore was sure he’d be a dead man.

He swallowed, and averted his eyes. Perhaps it would be best to remain silent until they reached the shore. 

The monster was the first to touch ground. It stretched out its legs until it could reach the riverbed, and let go of the stick the very moment it could walk unaided. Asgore, however, was still restrained by the tyre. He could only kick and wiggle to guide himself, until the waves washed him ashore. He wobbled up onto the mud, but to his dismay, his legs still couldn’t reach the ground.

There was no dignified way to go about this. He kicked and pulled and heaved, and at last hoisted himself onto his feet. Then he was hunched over, the heavy wheel still stuck to his hips and weighing down on his back. He dread to think what the monster must have thought of him. He couldn’t remain like this; if the monster chose to attack now, Asgore would be a sitting duck. Gritting his teeth, Asgore reached back, gripped the rubber in both hands, and pushed with all his might. He strained, he shoved, and just when he thought he was going to have to live the rest of his life stuck in this thing, he broke free.

Before he could celebrate, he lost his balance, and fell onto his front with a cry. The tyre landed on top of him. Laughing at himself, Asgore crawled out from under it and got to his feet. He stretched out his back, and it popped in several places.

“Goodness me!” he laughed. “That feels so much better!” He exhaled with the relief and, remembering his monster companion, reached out to offer him assistance. “Are you all right, sir-?”

Magical hands seized Asgore’s arms and legs. The malicious intent that had been momentarily gone from the monster's eyes was now back in full force, as was its magic.

“No one,” it growled, “makes a fool of WD Gaster.”

The hands held Asgore in place. Or at least, they were trying to. The energy was wavering, its glow lackluster, and when he moved his arms, Asgore found he was able to quite easily resist the magic’s hold. He looked again at the monster, Gaster, and saw how his eyes were half-lidded, his shoulders hunched as he fought to catch his breath. He looked moments away from passing out. But he refused to fall, and with a swing of his arm, he summoned his two remaining hands to capture Asgore’s soul.

The claws wrapped themselves around the glowing heart. Asgore felt the pressure, how the magic constricted his very being. It was a terrible realization, to know just how close to death he was. With just one thought, this monster could tear his soul from his body, and his life would be over in an instant.

Without thinking, without breathing, he spoke.

“That’s your name?” he asked.

Gaster blinked, but quickly regained his composure.

“Y-yes!” he stammered. “Remember the name of your ender-!”

“What does the “WD” stand for?”

Gaster, panting for breath now, crooked a brow. Asgore braced himself for punishment. The monster was surely irritated that he had stolen his thunder in his moment of glory, just as the dramatic tension had reached its peak. Gaster readied another shout, and his magic flashed in response. But his words died on his tongue as he sharply exhaled. He doubled over in exhaustion, and had to lean on one leg to hold himself up.

“None of your bloody business,” he huffed.

Hearing the venom drain from Gaster’s voice, Asgore released the tension in his shoulders. The monster hadn’t crushed his soul. He hesitated in anticipation of his next attack, but it never came. The magic’s grip on his arms and legs had weakened enough that he could step forward, and reach out to Gaster with placating gestures.

“Mr Gaster, please,” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but, I don’t think it would be wise for you to attack me right now. Considering the condition you’re in-”

“Be quiet!” Gaster snapped, and had to gasp to get his breath back. “Don’t you _dare_ take pity on me. Your mercy has no place here, human!”

Asgore wasn’t sure what he meant by that. “Mercy?” he asked.

Gaster wheezed.

Evidently he was in no state to continue this fight. Asgore took another careful step closer, hoping he could still persuade the monster that he meant no harm.

“Now, sir,” he said. “Let’s put a stop to all this, shall we?”

Asgore looked to his soul. Gaster’s magic still retained its hold on his heart, but its strength was waning. Asgore wondered if he could dispel the magic, as he had done before. A slight gesture of his hand was all it took to move the soul, and the hands dissipated without protest.

The monster started. Assisted by his powers, he leapt back, arms held high to guard himself from attack. Asgore could have kicked himself; he hadn’t meant to scare the poor fellow. Raising his hands, palms up, he tried again.

“I don't know what I’ve done to upset you,” he said, controlled and calm, “but I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be discussed over a nice cup of tea.” He considered that offer, brow furrowed. “Do you… _have_ tea here, in the Underground-?”

With a frustrated noise, Gaster lashed out. A sharp light flashed, too bright for Asgore to see, and he braced, awaiting Gaster’s surprise attack and the pain that would surely follow. When nothing happened, he dared to open his eyes. He squinted into the fading light, to find the place that Gaster had once stood was now empty. He was a good distance away, and backing off into the shadows.

Was he running away?

“Oh,” Asgore said, blinking. “You’re letting me go?”

“F-for now!” he barked, and pointed a non-lethal finger at him. “Mark my words, human! You won’t leave these caverns alive!”

Gaster’s act failed to convince him. He smiled.

“My name is Asgore,” he said politely. “Thank you, Gaster. I won’t waste the time you’ve given me.”

The monster’s face flushed. He looked like he might blow a gasket.

“S-shut up!” he snapped, petulant and embarrassed. “Your time is still limited! You’re only alive because I elected to grant you pity! But next time we meet, I won’t hesitate!”

His magic faded, and he parted with a warning.

“Enjoy your life while it lasts, human," he said, his voice oddly withdrawn. "Your soul _will_ be ours.”

He disappeared. He didn't walk away, or fade into the shadows. One moment he was there, the next he was not. And Asgore was once again alone.

He breathed a long exhale. His encounter with Gaster had left him with more questions than answers. And on top of that, he had gotten himself lost. He looked back to the cliff he had fallen from, searching its face for any sign of a safe way up, but found none. It was peppered with outcroppings and footholds, but Asgore was a hiker, not a rock climber. He didn’t like his chances. He would have to find another way around.

He hoped he could still return to the echo flower garden.

This place was a junkyard. Trash and scrap was gathering here in piles, carried by the waterfalls and the river’s current. He recognised it. One of the skeleton brothers had told him about this place, how he would come here to look for new toys. He collected any action figures he could find, especially human ones. Those were his favourite. As he walked past the junk piles, Asgore kept an eye out for any toys that might suit that description, finding none. This didn’t come as a great disappointment. He wouldn’t feel right gifting a child with a grubby hand-me-down he’d found in a garbage heap. Besides, he was sure he could craft something far better. That would be a far more appropriate present.

He wondered if he would see the skeleton brothers again. Little ivory faces and brilliant white smiles. Deep black eye sockets and little white lights. Just like…

He remembered Gaster’s face. How terrifying it had been as he emerged from the darkness, silhouetted by his vivid and pulsing energy. How surprised he had looked when Asgore inadvertently pulled his magic platform out from under him. How he had blushed the colour of his magic when Asgore showed him kindness.

A smile came unbidden to Asgore’s lips.

“He was rather cute.”


	3. Village Host

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: these chapter titles are in reference to the music of one of my favourite SoundCloud artists! I like to theme up the chapter titles of my stories; it makes the process more enjoyable. I wanted this fanfic to be no exception. Though I’m not yet sure if I’ll have use for a title such as “To Honk Mysteriously”. That would have been perfect if this were a Homestuck fanfic. Ah well.
> 
> This chapter is written from Gaster’s POV! I hope you will enjoy it.

 

Gaster had not gone far. His dwindling magic reserves were too lacking to carry him to Hotland’s outskirts. He had gone as far as his strength could carry him, and had taken refuge between the twin waterfalls, where it was dark and desolate and no one could see his shame. He was sat on a rock, bent double and cringing into his hands.

 _How_. How had he failed on such a catastrophic level to complete such a simple task?

It was right there! Right there in his grasp, a _thought_ away from victory! He had touched it, he had felt it, the essence of life itself beating rhythmic vibrations against his fingertips; the embodiment of monsterkind’s salvation, in his hands, in his grasp, alive! Alive!

Gone.

He was completely empty-handed. He didn’t have the soul, he didn’t have the human, he didn’t even have his whereabouts. He had suffered no damage, no fatal injury that he could present to the Queen as evidence of the human’s brute strength, as an excuse for his defeat. All he had obtained was the human’s name.

 _Asgore_.

It was a name befitting of a human. A dreadful name that implied power and violence and cruelty. A name that monsters would whisper to their children in hushed bedtime stories, tales that would strike the fear of mankind into all who heard them. _Asgore_.

Asgore was an idiot. A bumbling, vapid, caterwauling embarrassment to his kind. A repulsive, brainless, loathsome coward who would turn tail and run at the first sign of danger. Gaster refused to believe that this man could have possibly descended from humans: that vile scourge, that blight upon the world, the most terrible force of evil. He could not possibly be of the same species that had sealed the entire monster race underground with the mightiest spell the world had yet seen - magic! Could he even use magic? Likely not; Gaster had pursued him for close to an hour, and not once did the human counter his attacks. He didn’t seem capable of landing a single blow, let alone casting spells.

He was pathetic. A waste. A sitting duck, an easy target, a soul begging to be taken.

And Gaster had let him escape.

He cringed again, and groaned into his hands. He replayed the encounter over and over again in his mind, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when he had messed it all up. He needed to learn from his failure, gather information, be better prepared for their next encounter. But his memories refused to comply. Try as he might to focus on their battle, to search his recollections for his fatal error, his mind’s eye kept wandering back to that one image:

The human’s face. His mismatched eyes. His kindly smile.

Gaster wanted to destroy it. Why hadn’t he? He’d had every opportunity to wipe that insipid grin off his grotesque face - why hadn’t he? He’d spared no expense in his attacks: his Blasters were at full strength, his attack patterns were precise and merciless, he had struck at the human in a relentless barrage - but it hadn’t been enough. Months and months of preparation, wasted! Even when the human had gotten itself trapped, had practically made a target of itself, _begging_ to be put out of its misery, Gaster-

No. He wouldn’t allow himself to complete that thought. It had been the human’s fault, after all. It was all his fault, him and his rotten soul. He ruined his plans, weakened his magic, figured out one of Gaster’s only weaknesses - and what did the human do then?

He had saved him from drowning. He forgave him. He showed him mercy.

Gaster rubbed calming circles into his temples, but his frustration would not subside. The humans’ pleasantness had been the salt on the wounds of his failure, and now he was faced with the unenviable task of reporting his colossal blunder to the Queen. How could he look her in the face and tell her he'd let the human go? And when pressed for a reason why, a legitimate reason for why he had let the human live, Gaster would have to look her in the eye and tell her: “Because he was nice to me.”

He couldn't do that. His pride wouldn't allow it. He couldn't allow himself to rest, no matter how his body pleaded for him to stop.

He could not let that man reach the throne room.

However, the nature of his soul presented a dire problem. It exhibited behaviours and abilities Gaster had not seen in any other human soul. This was not new to him; every human life he had studied possessed traits unique only to that soul, abilities that its counterparts could not imitate. He had identified these variables as core virtues: a title that aptly identified not only the soul’s ability, but the personality exhibited by its human host, prior to its death. Each one was a different colour, quite conveniently. Purple for perseverance, cyan for patience, green for kindness, and so on.

What was the core virtue of an orange soul?

If Gaster were to hazard an educated guess, based on the behaviour he had observed in the human so far, he would predict that its core virtue was _being bloody irritating_. Or perhaps bumbling. Or dull-witted. Or all of the above.

He huffed a sigh into his palms. Curse his inability to swim. If it hadn't been for that blunder, he could be presenting the Queen with the sixth soul by now. It was just his luck that the Bloody Irritating soul would have the ability to negate magic. The cyan soul had done something similar: if magic moved through the static soul, it would have no effect. But if the soul moved into the path of a magical attack, it would sustain damage. Was the opposite true for the orange soul?

He wanted so badly to resume his pursuit of the human, to corner it somewhere and rip the life from its body before it could utter a single stupid word. Just get the whole dreadful thing over with. But his exhausted body had no desire to comply. He ached. From top to toe, he ached, and though he had long since caught his breath his pulse was still racing. This was partly due to his recent near death experience, mostly due to his barely contained frustration.

Why hadn't he invented a way of converting anger into energy yet? He decided that was something he should really look into later. At this rate, the CORE would become obsolete, for his body alone would be enough to power the Underground ten times over!

Ignoring the way his head swam, Gaster got to his feet. He straightened his jacket, his jaw set and brow furrowed. He wouldn't let the trail go cold just yet. He knew where the human was. There was only one path he could follow from here.

Gaster couldn't pass up a chance like this.

—

He perched in the corner of the dimly lit tunnel, and waited.

This would be the perfect place to capture the human. The pathways here were slim and few in number, and the only available source of light was a handful of glowing mushrooms. Better still, they were not a permanent light source. They had to be interacted with before they would glow. If left alone, their light would eventually fade, and the tunnel would be plunged into darkness.

Gaster awaited the human in the gloom, tapping a nearby mushroom on occasion to check if anyone was approaching. Not that it was necessary. If someone were heading in his direction, he would know the moment they switched the first mushroom on. Some monsters would be able to traverse the pathways without light, but they were very few in number. And Gaster was almost entirely sure that humans did not have night vision.

His plan was flawless. He took a breath, sat back, and waited for the light.

But nobody came.

Gaster’s arms were folded, huddled to his chest in a meagre attempt to keep himself warm, his foot tapping against the floor. A habit he knew he should put a stop to: the repetitive sound would be enough to blow his cover if the human came by. But hours were passing and there was still no sign of him.

What was taking him so long? Had he gotten lost? Gaster wouldn't put it past him; the insufferable dullard was probably finding it impossible to cross the waterfall rapids, or had gotten distracted at the Snail Races.

Or, what if he wasn't here at all? What if he had found a way to get past him, and had already continued on? He couldn’t have. Could he?

Paranoia itched at Gaster’s thoughts. It was possible that the human could have ran ahead while Gaster was still collecting himself. He’d been so sure that the human was wasting time wandering around aimlessly, and hadn’t proceeded this far yet, that he hadn’t thought to check beyond this tunnel. If that were the case, the human could be on his way to Hotland by now.

His stomach turned at the thought. Such a catastrophic oversight would jeopardise the safety of all of Hotland’s inhabitants. A handful of Royal Guardsmen were stationed in the area, not far from the entrance, but their strength alone would not be enough to stand against the might of the human. Without a Boss Monster to defend them, the civilians were entirely at the human’s mercy.

Gaster looked back to the long hallway. Still dark, still silent. No signs of life. No human. Nobody.

He shifted his weight to his other foot, fingers tapping against his arm. The human wasn’t coming. It wasn’t here. And so long as he remained there, Gaster had no way of telling where it had ended up. It wouldn’t take long for him to check; if he were to teleport from there to the labs, from there to the conveyor belts, and then stop by the switch puzzles just to be thorough, he could be back at Waterfall in a matter of minutes. But a few minutes was all it would take for the human to sneak past. What if it was on to him? What if it was hiding in some secluded corner, waiting for Gaster to leave, waiting for him to tire first, like it was playing Chicken.

Frustrated, he let out a harsh breath. He had far better things to be doing than skulking around in the dark waiting for some idiot to come wandering by so he could knock his block off. Roles he was far better suited to.

But he wouldn’t make any progress if he stayed still. Besides, he thought, it would be nice to warm up for a while.

Acquiescing to his paranoia at last, he closed his eyes and focused. He thought of the labs. He pictured it clearly in his mind: the looming white building, the porthole windows, the towering sliding doors. Cyan magic sparked at his feet as he prepared to teleport.

A mushroom switched on. The far pathway was illuminated, and a tall figure passed through the glow.

Gaster released his magic and quickly ducked back into the shadows, keen eyes trailing the silhouette as it moved through the spotlights. He had only caught a glimpse of it before - was it him? It was tall enough, he was certain of that. He waited, shoulders stiff and breath hitched in his throat, for the figure to approach the next mushroom. It switched on, and its silhouette appeared again. It was big, hulking, bulky and hairy. The unmistakable form of the sixth human.

_I have you now._

Gaster crouched, poised and ready to strike. His eyes thinned, not once letting the human out of their sight as it meandered ever closer. Gaster didn’t move, he didn’t dare to breathe. He felt his arms go stiff, but he stubbornly held them in place. He had to be ready. He had to be the one, he must be the one. No one else could do this. _He_ would be the one to take the human’s soul.

There was no doubt in Gaster’s mind that he was in for a difficult battle. The human was out to get him, furious still after their previous encounter. It had shown him mercy before, but it wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

And nor would Gaster.

Another light switched on. Closer now. Gaster’s heart was in his throat. He didn’t think he could breathe even if he tried. A rock skittered across the floor. Another light. His shoulders went taught. The silhouette was growing, gaining colour. Just around the corner. Pain in his arms. Almost there. Almost here. Closer. Closer-

“Hey, doc!”

 _Aaron_.

All the tension in Gaster’s body deflated so suddenly he had to catch himself before he fell to the ground. He’d mistaken the seahorse-monster’s musculature for that of the human’s, and his thick unruly mane for Asgore’s knotted and unkempt hair. Somehow, in his anticipation, he had completely missed Aaron’s tail and muzzle: two features he most certainly did not share with the human. Gaster doubted that Asgore could smirk with quite so much smugness either.

“How's it going?” he asked as he sidled up to him. “What are you doing hangin’ around in the dark?”

Gaster tried to remain mindful of his body language, doing his best not to let his bitter disappointment appear too obvious. He forced a smile onto his face, though it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

“Oh, you know me, Aaron!” he replied in a mock attempt at casual chatter. “Whenever I’m not busy at the labs, there’s nothing I love more than spending my free time freezing my _bones off_ in Waterfall-”

“No luck catching those humans, then?” the body builder interrupted.

“It's just the _one_ human, actually,” Gaster corrected him haughtily, all pleasantness draining from his expression. “And I am having no trouble at all, I just…” He fidgeted, crossed his arms. “I _temporarily_ lost sight of him.”

“Huh! That’s what you get for using your brain,” he chortled, smirking as he flexed his swollen bicep. “Maybe if you had muscles like mine, you’d have caught it by now-”

“Yes _thank you_ , Aaron,” Gaster said, grinning through his teeth. “As much as I appreciate your most _sagacious_ advice, I will not be needing it. I have this under control, so you can go back to tending to your busy lifting schedule. Aren’t there boulders you should be suplexing?”

“Nah, that’s Undyne’s thing,” Aaron said with a casual shrug of his shoulder. Gaster’s sarcasm had gone sailing right over his finely coiffed mane. “Besides, I thought I could help you out!”

“Did you,” Gaster said, deadpan.

“Yeah! I spend a lot of time around these parts. Maybe I saw your human walk by? What does he look like?”

Gaster blinked, slowly.

“He looks like a human.”

“Yeah, right, but be more specific.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Gaster took a long breath, and let out an even longer exhale.

“He’s tall,” he began. “Slow and stupid. Blond and hairy. Stocky, broad. Big in all directions.”

That last descriptor wasn’t necessarily accurate, but Gaster didn’t feel like being kind. Aaron’s eyes were on the ceiling, lip pursed and brow furrowed, humming as he searched his scant intelligence for a face to fit that description. Coming up with nothing, he shook his head.

“Hmm, nope. I haven’t seen anyone who looks like that. If he’s _that_ big, I would have noticed. Are you sure he’s still here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s only two ways out of here-”

Realisation hit Gaster like an icy blast. There was only one place he could have wandered off to.

Oh hell, he thought. _Temmie Village_.

—

The human was having the time of his life.

He was sat amidst a crowd of excited and curious Temmies. They were crawling all over him, nibbling at his clothes and his hair, marvelling at his ability to keep warm even without fur. They were asking him asinine questions, like where he lived, how he kept his balance without a tail, did he have any Tem Flakes, and why would such a cute human choose to be so muscular.

“Muscles is not cutes!” claimed a loud Temmie.

“No! Not cutes!” another agreed.

“But hyumin is cutes! Even with muscles? Temmie not understand!”

The human, Asgore, chuckled with delight, and gently pet the Temmie’s head.

“You are too sweet,” he said. “Surely _you_ are the cute ones here, not me.”

The Temmies’ eyes boggled as they collectively gasped. Ecstatic, they cried out “Cute!!” in unison, jumping up and down on the spot. One puppy, overcome with emotion, fell onto her side and vibrated with joy.

Gaster felt like he might vomit.

He had teleported in so he wouldn't be spotted, and had secluded himself inside a crack in a wall overlooking the scene. At first, he was alarmed to see the human in the presence of so many vulnerable monsters. He was on edge, ready to defend the Temmies the moment the human turned on them. But that moment never came. He just sat there, petting their little heads, enjoying their imbecilic antics and giggling like an idiot.

Gaster shook his head. _This_ is how he had spent the past three hours? Why had he stayed here? And for so long!

He suspected that Asgore had planned this. Perhaps he had used his winning smile and charming ways to manipulate the Temmies into trusting him, knowing well that Gaster couldn't attack him if he were surrounded by innocent bystanders. After some thought, he took that back. The human was far too dull-witted to come up with such a heinous strategy.

But the truth remained, it would be too risky for him to attack the human now. The Temmies were far too erratic and unpredictable. No matter how carefully he aimed, Gaster couldn't be sure that they wouldn't get caught in the crossfire.

It irritated him to no end, but he had no choice but to wait until the human left. He could strike him again when he was out in the clear. However long it took.

He was certainly in no hurry. He had taken to teaching the Temmies simple tricks, like sitting and shaking hands, in exchange for Tem Flakes. Asgore found it particularly amusing when the puppies would play dead. How they would flop onto their backs, their limbs stiff in a mockery of rigor mortis, their eyes shifting to become little X shapes. Gaster ground his teeth.

He didn’t know what to make of it. The human found it endlessly entertaining whenever a Temmie would pretend to drop dead. They would get back up moments later, very much alive, and only then would he give them a treat. Gaster didn’t understand. Why encourage such behaviour? If he so enjoyed watching the life drain from a monster’s eyes, why settle fora pretend version when he could have the real thing? It was an easy task for a human. It would take a disturbing lack of effort for him to dust the lot of them.

But he hadn’t hurt a hair on their empty little heads. He hadn’t even initiated a fight.

Was this a game to him?

Asgore searched his pocket for a Tem Flake to give to the impatient puppy, but found none, much to her despair.

“Hold on, hold on!” he laughed. “Stay here, I'll go get some more.”

He got to his feet. Gaster tensed. Was this it? Would he leave? He was heading to the storage box, but there was every chance that this treat might be the last. Asgore knelt beside the box, and rummaged through it. Temmies were excitedly bouncing all around him, chanting the name of their favourite treat. Gaster leaned forward, watching with rapt attention. His arm was raised, muscles taught, ready to draw his magic the moment Asgore reached the exit.

“Oh no,” the human said, the smile falling from his lips, “it appears I’m all out.”

The Temmies collectively groaned and whined and wailed. The human was still looking through his belongings, double-checking to be sure he hadn’t missed a single Flake. Gaster impatiently flicked his wrist, magic sparking at his fingertips.

“Ah, wait!” the human gasped, holding up a hand. “I knew it had to be in here somewhere-”

Asgore reached into the box, and pulled out a small, white, gelatinous orb. Gaster squinted, trying to get a closer look at the peculiar object. It didn’t cling to the human’s fingers, despite its sticky consistency, and appeared to be matte-like in texture. Almost fluffy.

It jiggled in his palm, and suddenly the box was filled with its duplicates. Oddly, one had turned green.

“You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to get this,” he admitted. “I found this old piano; goodness knows how it got there. Behind it was a locked passageway that would only open if I played the correct tune on the piano. I really wanted to know what was in there! But I have no ear for music at all; oh it took me _hours_ to get it right!”

Gaster’s eyes went wide. _That’s what he’d been doing?!_

“The shop owner really seems to like these, uh, Dog Residue things. I’ll go sell them to her, and then I can buy you some more Tem Flakes, okay?”

Their delight could not be contained. One Temmie hit the ceiling, literally.

“All right, calm down!” Asgore chuckled as he got to his feet, holding an armful of wobbling Dog Residue to his chest. He sidestepped to dodge the debris falling from the ceiling. “Be good girls and wait here.”

Gaster watched, dismayed and disbelieving as the human wandered into the Tem Shop, not so much as glancing at the exit. He had to duck to avoid hitting his head against a wooden sign hanging above the entrance, marked only with an exclamation point. And then he was out of Gaster’s view.

He smacked his forehead against the cave wall and groaned. A false alarm. The tension melted from his arms and his magic dissipated. He had a terrible feeling that he was going to be stuck waiting there until the human finally grew bored of playing with the Temmies, or got hungry or tired, whichever came first. What if he stayed there overnight? Gaster didn’t want to even consider the possibility. It would be greatly irresponsible of him to let the human out of his sight again, but he couldn’t wait out the entire night for the human to leave. He had to go home. His boys…

A thought turned his blood cold. He snapped his head up, eyes fixed on the shop doorway. No sign of the human. He was still in there.

Or _was_ he?

Gaster’s eyes thinned. He wasn’t going to fall for that. The human thought he could get away, slip through some secluded exit in the back of the shop. Did he know Gaster was there? Surely not, he hadn’t looked at him once, he hadn’t even looked in his general direction. Had he? He couldn’t know for sure, but he wasn’t about to make that same mistake again. He wouldn’t let that blasted human out of his sight.

The Temmies were all gathered around the entrance to the shop, each one fixated on getting their next Tem Flake, and completely unaware of the shadow creeping up behind them. Gaster moved closer, silent, discreet, piercing eyes locked on the doorway. Closer, closer still, ready to break into a run, to hunt that bastard down-

Asgore laughed merrily.

Gaster froze. He was still there, right there, talking with the shopkeeper Temmie-

He teleported back to his hiding spot before she could lay eyes on him. That was close; he’d almost blown his cover.

He drew his brow together as he tried to catch his breath. Asgore hadn’t left. In fact, judging from what little detail Gaster had managed to glean from his brief glimpse of the inside of the Tem Shop, there was nowhere he could have gone. There was barely enough room in there for a Temmie, let alone a hulking, ungainly human. He wasn’t planning anything. He had no intention of escaping at all.

He was just going to feed the dogs.

“Hnnnn…!! Tem always wanna DogResidus…!”

It was the shopkeep. Gaster couldn’t see them from where he stood, but if he stayed absolutely still, he could just about hear them. He held his breath and listened attentively to their exchange.

“Yes, yes, it’s all right,” Asgore said warmly. “Here’s another.”

“Tem buy for… 4G!!”

“A sound deal!”

“OOHHH!”

This continued, ad infinitum, ad nauseam, until Asgore ran out of Dog Residue. Gaster anticipated the moment that Asgore would leave the cave. It never came. He struck up a friendly conversation, inquiring about the various objects on the shelves of the Tem Shop, the rich history of the Tems, and why she was such a big fan of Dog Residue. As he patiently listened to the shopkeeper's broken speech, the human discovered that she was saving up all her hard earned gold so she might attend college (or, as she called it, “cooleg”). There was a brief silence.

“But you can afford Dog Residue?” Asgore asked.

“YayA!!” she responded loudly. “Tem gota have dat Dog Residus…!!”

“Ah, I see.” He chuckled. “All right then. I believe I can help you there.”

Asgore re-emerged from the cavern, alarming Gaster so badly he slipped and hit his back against the wall. He thanked his lucky ceiling stars the human hadn’t heard him. Not that he could hear much over the Temmies’ cacophony. They jumped up and down at his feet, yipping and yapping and screeching about Tem Flakes. A particularly bold puppy had leapt up onto Asgore’s back, and was clambering over his shoulder, hoping that it might get its paws on the treats first. Even then, the human remained patient, giggling as he pulled out a fresh box of Flakes from his pocket.

“Thank you for your patience!” he said. “Good girls, here you go-”

The box was gone in a flash of Tem. Bewildered, Asgore watched with a gormless expression as the Temmies made quick work of the Flakes, the box, and all packaging that came with it. They tore through it in a matter of seconds, until all that remained were a few scraps of cardboard, and a pile of bloated and very satisfied Temmies. Asgore laughed, overjoyed.

Gaster wrestled with the grin that threatened to crawl across his own lips, forcing it back down. This was no time for merriment. The moment was upon him. The human was finally done wasting time on menial tasks, and he had no other reason to stay here. He was going to leave, and Gaster was going to capture him-

Of course, it wasn’t to be. Asgore went straight back to the dimensional box, pulled out his remaining Dog Residue, and poked it until it produced another set of duplicates. He gathered them up, and went straight back to the Tem Shop.

Gaster watched in horror, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. He was serious. He was actually going to do it. He was going to put Temmie through colleg.

No. Gaster refused to believe it. No one had _that_ kind of patience. He couldn’t keep this up forever. He would get bored eventually, and then he would leave, and then, _at last_ , he would fall right into Gaster’s dastardly trap.

It was only a matter of time. He got comfortable, and waited for the human to give up.

—

Hours passed. The human was still going, and Gaster was losing the will to live.

He had lost count of how many times Asgore had waddled back and forth between the shop and the dimensional box. Not once had he tried to speed up the process by bartering with the shopkeeper; he sold each duplicate Dog Residue for the first price she suggested, be it 5G or 1G. Even now, after he’d taken countless trips between the box and the shop, his eyes still lit up whenever a Dog Salad appeared in his hands.

Gaster couldn’t fathom it. Such banality would drive him mad. Where did Asgore get the patience? What kind of power was this?

Was this the true nature of Detemmienation?

 _Determination_. He meant _determination_. Gaster could have smacked himself. Obviously this place was having an adverse affect on him.

He’d waited long enough. His inaction had cost him a great deal of time, and he had no more left to waste. He had to dispose of the human before it could do any harm. It had shown mercy thus far, but Gaster had no way of telling when the human might turn hostile, and he certainly wasn’t about to put monsters’ lives at risk to find that out.

Asgore had sauntered back into the shop, humming to himself. Perfect. When he came back out, Gaster could catch him unawares, grab him by the arm, teleport him back to Waterfall and dispose of him there. Steeling himself, he gripped the brim of the stone wall in one hand, charging cyan magic in the other.

Something touched his arm. Gaster stiffened, fear clutching at his chest as he slowly turned to look. A Temmie stared back at him.

“Hi, I'm Bob.”

He'd been spotted!

Gaster scrambled to get away, and in his panic, tumbled out of his hiding place with a cry. He fell head over heels and landed in an ungraceful heap on the floor, his coat gathered around his legs. He kicked and writhed but only made the problem worse, becoming a squirming black mess as he tangled himself in his own coat.

“What was that?”

The human!

Abandoning his plan and his attempts to escape his own garment, he focused his magic and teleported out of the village just in time for Asgore to poke his head out of the cavern wall.

He felt himself manifest somewhere. There was solid ground beneath him, and the air was chill. He was reluctant to open his eyes. In his desperation to flee, he had neglected to think of a specific place to teleport to before he cast his magic. He could have ended up anywhere.

“Uhh, Gaster?” called a voice. It was high-pitched and hesitant. “Sir? Uhm, what are you doing up there?”

He recognised it. He knew this person, and the familiarity came as a relief. However, this was also cause for concern, for he did not believe this person to be a resident of Hotland nor Waterfall. And now his side was getting very cold- and why did his clothes feel wet?

He braced himself, and cracked open an eye. Then both of them, wide.

_Why was he on the roof of his house._

—

Asgore blinked, unsure as to what had just happened. He could have sworn he heard a shout just now. He shrugged it off and plodded back over to the dimensional box, choosing to assume the noise had been some Temmies play-fighting.

After a few more trips back and forth between the dimensional box and the shop, Asgore had at last sold enough Dog Residues to pay for Temmie’s college fund. She gave him her thanks, and darted off… somewhere. Asgore didn’t quite understand how she had managed to move like that, in such a peculiar way, like physics didn’t apply to her. Nor did he understand how she was going to study at college without her face. Before he had a chance to figure it out, she was back, and proudly sporting a mortarboard. The whole village was overjoyed, but none were happier than Asgore himself.

“Tem learn MANY THINs,” she announced. “Learn to sell new ITEM. YayA!”

“A new item?” Asgore repeated. Curious, he looked through her updated item list. The option to pay for Temmie’s college fund had been replaced with something else. It read: “temy ARMOR!!!”

It was expensive. To put it lightly.

Deciding he didn’t require such an item, Asgore thanked Temmie for her hard work, and suggested she use her newfound knowledge to sell the item to someone deserving. Satisfied with a job well done and a Temmie well educated, he wandered on, humming to himself.

He wondered where Mr Gaster had gotten to, and if he might meet him again on his travels.

 

 

 


	4. Vehement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AN: Aah, I still can’t get over the positive response this fic has so far received. You readers are all too kind; I’m deeply grateful for every kudos, bookmark and comment you've sent to me! You’ve really helped to renew my confidence in my writing, and I have no words to describe my gratitude for that. 
> 
> Just a quick plug: this fic is now Patreon supported, along with three other projects I’m currently producing. All Patrons will be treated to previews of each project’s update before its full release. That means you’ll get a sneak peek of each chapter of Sixth Soul before it’s fully complete. If you enjoy my work, and would like to see more of it, I would greatly appreciate your support so I can keep dedicating more and more of my time to them. https://www.patreon.com/paranoart
> 
> Thanks again, lovelies. <3]

 

It wasn't often that Asgore got himself lost. As a hiking enthusiast, he had developed a good sense of direction with practice, and could rely on his instincts and knowledge to guide him home. The Underground, however, posed him with a challenge far different from any he’d faced before. He had abandoned his compass many days (weeks?) ago. Something about the Underground had confused it, and it had lost its connection to the Earth’s magnetic field lines, and would spin wildly at the slightest turn. It was of no use to him anymore. The children of Snowdin were probably having a great time watching the needle spin out of control and using it as part of their games.

The thought of that sleepy little town, its inviting houses and welcoming residents, brought a smile to his lips. His chest swelled with merriment when his thoughts wandered back to Temmie Village, its quirky residents and their adorable puppy faces. What a happy accident that had been, stumbling upon the secluded village when he had gotten lost trying to find his way back. “Not all who wander are lost”: he had seen that saying slapped across many t-shirts and bumper stickers, and would scoff at every one. Now he was starting to understand what it meant. He was glad he had visited, even for just a short while.

But he couldn’t linger for too long.

However, he was having no luck finding a way back to the echo flower field. The only path he had seen that could take him back was intersected by deep waters. Ordinarily, Asgore would have no fear of swimming, but his skin was still chill from the last dip he had taken in Waterfall’s rivers, and his clothes weren’t yet dry. Lacking in any means of drying himself or warming up, he thought it best that he avoid the water as much as he could, lest he catch a cold. He wasn’t sure how he would seek treatment were he to fall ill in the Underground, if he could at all.

His last hope of taking a shortcut back to the flower field came in the form of a small round bird. Its appearance caught Asgore by surprise at first: unlike most of the Underground’s residents, this one looked quite familiar to him, not unlike a rather large chick or an overgrown duck. He wondered for a moment if it was indeed an animal that had gotten lost wandering Mt Ebott and had fallen down, just as he had. Then it spoke, and Asgore’s theory died on the spot.

The bird offered to carry him across the disproportionately small gap. He politely declined. Such was his usual reflexive response when someone, be they human or monster, offered him kindness. The bird insisted, and Asgore insisted on politely declining, and expressed his doubts that such a cute and small bird could lift something as heavy and hulking as he. His considerate gesture backfired, for the bird took his self-deprecating comment as a challenge. It had made a valiant attempt to carry him across the gap, but as Asgore suspected, he was just too heavy for the poor thing. It could barely lift his toes off the ground. Eventually, they had to give up on the endeavour.

He returned to wandering through the empty caverns. He suspected he might wander all the way to Hotland at the rate, and pondered if that wouldn't be such a bad thing. He had observed monsters in Snowdin travelling to Waterfall by way of boats, coursing along a languid river that connected every section of the Underground. That seemed like his best option. He would have to take the long way round, but Asgore had never been opposed to taking the scenic route.

As he ambled on, he found himself wishing for a sound, something to fill the air and the ever-present emptiness that followed him at all times, heavy as an iron ball chained to his chest.

The only entities he had to keep him company were the sounds of his footsteps echoing off the walls, and the distant sound of thundering water. There wasn’t another living soul around here. Asgore thought this to be a good idea. The other monsters probably had the sense to stick to more inviting, cozy places, in their warm houses where they could sit on the couch and eat dinner together while they watched TV. Like they did in Snowdin.

Asgore hadn’t eaten in quite some time. Despite this, a bitter taste crept along his tongue. He swallowed it down.

To his relief, the air was growing warmer. The further he trekked into Waterfall’s depths the warmer the atmosphere became. It wasn't yet enough to dry his clothes, but enough to provide relief, and hope that comfort was soon to come. He pushed on, his footsteps becoming louder, filling the all-encompassing silence, yet somehow exacerbating it, making the hallways seem even emptier.

This was a silence Asgore was familiar with. He had known this silence for a long time, a terribly long time. So long now, he had a name for it. It was an insidious feeling, one that crept along his spine, like fingers tracing the back of his neck, ghosting over his skin and through his hair. A deceptively tender touch that once had the power to bring him happiness like nothing else in the world could. Now it felt like poison in his veins.

He walked faster, harder, on purpose, to fill that silence as much as he could, to block it out, to guard himself from it. His pulse was quickening. Breathing had become an arduous task. A cold sweat was breaking on his forehead. He could feel his panic rising in him, ascending to meet with the silence, and he walked faster, louder, in fear of what might happen if he allowed the noise to stop for even a moment, sure that just one moment of quiet would be all the silence needed to break through, to shatter his defences, seize the weight in his chest and then-

A light. A dim, gentle light beckoning to him from a rocky corner.

An echo flower.

For a single brilliant moment, Asgore thought - hoped - he had somehow gotten himself so lost he had found his way back to the flower field by accident. Then his eyes adjusted to the light, or the lack thereof, and saw that the flower was not the first of many, but the only one of its kind, growing by its lonesome at the end of the stone path.

Not a flower field at all. A dead end.

Asgore was only mildly disheartened. Though it was not the one he sought, this echo flower still provided him a form of relief he desperately needed. Quieting his breath, and daring to face the consequences of the stillness, he listened. And he heard it. Like the first note of a concerto sung by a single piano key, reaching out to calm the tempestuous silence, it called out to him. It guided Asgore toward it, promising a much-needed reprieve.

A voice.

“Wrong turn, bub.”

Asgore blinked. He looked over his shoulder, and noticed he had indeed walked straight past a northward (or so he assumed) pathway. He chuckled at himself for his oversight, thanked the flower for the directions, and continued on his way.

Realising what he had just done, he laughed at himself again. Old habits died hard, he supposed.

The turning lead him through a shallow lake of grassy water. Beyond that, echo flowers dotted the murky terrain. He slowed his pace, eased by the distant murmuring of distant voices, though he recognised not a one. He marked that this was not the same field he had slept in. It was smaller, far more densely populated, and was restricted to just this one hallway. Even the messages left in the flowers were different. Asgore could just make out the voice of a monster asking when their friend was going to show up, complaining that they always left them waiting, that they thought they were supposed to meet an hour ago, and why did they always leave their phone on silent and if they didn’t show up soon they would continue on to Hotland without them.

And why wouldn't they? This was a desolate part of the Underground. A place of transit. No one would want to linger here for long.

Perhaps it would still be worth leaving a message, he thought.

Most of the flowers were already taken, each one busily chatting with its partner, repeating the same voices over and over. Monsters’ wishes, their hopes and dreams, their longing to see the surface. Children laughing.

Asgore’s chest tightened. It took a few more gasps and a few deep sighs before he could muster the strength to whisper to an empty flower:

“Asriel.” He bit his bottom lip. “My son, I’m here. It’s time to go home.”

Slowly, he righted himself, suddenly aware of a throbbing pain blossoming across his hip and lower back. He waited, one hand nursing his aching side, until he heard his own voice echoed by the flower.

He walked on. His legs felt heavier than they did before.

The air was thickening, heavy and humid, until Asgore could no longer bear the heat of his hiking attire. He peeled off his jacket, sighing as the air hit his skin. He wrapped the jacket around his waist, still sweating beneath his clothes. He found himself longing for the icy waters of the junkyard. He had half a mind to turn back and dip his head in the shallow puddle, to cool off a little. But that thought was immediately derailed when he caught sight of the exit.

The path opened up, leading to a wide open area of severely rocky terrain, peppered with bottomless pits and towering stalagmites. Beyond that, off in the far distance, was a castle.

Asgore’s feet slowed to a halt. He started at it, marvelling at the very possibility of its existence. A kingdom, underground, growing down here, _here_ of all places, a place of dark and cold and the absence of hope. Still it lived, it _thrived_ , spreading across the barren lands in bold defiance of monsterkind’s great misfortune.

So Asgore liked to believe.

A single tunnel marked a safe path across the treacherous valley. A hazy red glow lit the passage, and a warm breeze cupped Asgore’s face, carrying the scent of ash and burning. Asgore was certain that this was the entrance to the “Hotlands” he’d heard the monsters talk about.

The tunnel would take him even further away from the flower field. But he held on to hope that he might find a way around, or perhaps a riverboat he could borrow. The monsters he'd met so far on his travels had been so kind and accommodating; he was sure they would gladly let him use the boat, if he promised to bring it back.

He was at the foot of the cliff face when he noticed he wasn’t alone.

He heard them before he saw them, gasping for air and cursing under their breath. He thought there was someone hiding in the tunnel at first, but it was empty, save for the mist and the dust. He looked about himself, back the way he came, behind him, under his feet. There was no one to be seen. Until he looked up.

Gaster stood at the edge of the cliff, shoulders hunched and fists clenched, his piercing eyes trained on Asgore. His mouth was open, but he was too out of breath to speak. Asgore brightened upon seeing him.

“Ah, howdy Mr Gaster!” he said, greeting him with a cheery wave. “Uhm, what are you doing up there-?”

“ _YOU_ ,” Gaster growled, pointing an accusative finger at him, despite how it made his arm shake. “You have made a mockery of me for the last time, human!”

“Mockery?” Asgore repeated, taken aback. “I-I’m not sure what you mean, but- Mr Gaster, it’s not safe up there! You could fall and- why are you covered in snow?”

“I am not!” he barked, kicking sleet from his shoe. “I won't fall for your tricks again, you fiend!”

“I-it’s no trick; you should really change out of those wet clothes-”

“Hiding in the village was clever, I admit,” he said, gaining confidence as he flashed his coat with a dramatic gesture, flicking more snow from the tail. “But you won't escape again!”

He held out his arm, and summoned two of the giant skull heads. Their eyes were glowing white lights, just like his, their jaws wide and vicious and awash with serrated fangs.

Asgore groaned and let his shoulders fall.

“Oh no, not again,” he complained. “Mr Gaster, please, I mean no harm! I am just trying to find-”

“You expect me to believe your blatant lies?!” Gaster snapped, and the skulls reacted to his rage, gnashing their jaws and chewing on the magic seeping from their mouths. With a single sharp gesture of Gaster’s arm, the blasters obediently responded to their master’s command and ceased their idle gnawing. Asgore balked at the sight of their gaping maws, their teeth like buzz saws and eyes like burning metal. Their magic was taking form in their mouths, rolling and twisting, convulsing and sharpening, solidifying into bladed weapons pointed right at his chest.

The urge to shout rose in Asgore’s throat, only for it to seize shut and choke his words. It seemed talking would do no good.

“Your soul is mine-!”

“Woah, cool! Gaster, are you gonna blast ’im?!”

Both men froze, heads snapping in the direction of the voice. A young girl, barely out of her teens, had appeared at the end of the pathway, and was watching their exchange with great eagerness. She had blue skin, a flash of vivid red hair, and more bandages and band-aids than Asgore could count. She was grinning wide with teeth so sharp she could put Gaster’s skulls to shame.

“I wanna watch!” she said. “No no wait, let me help!”

With a dissatisfied groan, Gaster let his arm flop to his side and looked to the heavens, gesturing as though to ask some unseen being why he had been cursed with such terrible luck.

“Undyne, no!” he ordered her. “This is no place for children!”

“I'm not a kid, I'm a Royal Guardswoman!” she argued.

“A _trainee_ Royal Guardswoman-”

“That doesn't matter- and hey, what are you doing up there anyway? That's _my_ mountain! Only _I'm_ allowed to stand on it and say cool stuff and pick fights!”

“Wh- This- You can't just claim a landmass as yours!” Gaster was struggling to come up with a better retort. “It's not even a mountain!”

“Nuh-uh! I called dibs first!”

“I don't see your name on it!”

Asgore, now a spectator to their bickering, watched on with wide eyes and taught shoulders. If he backed away now, he thought, he may be able to slip into the tunnel without them noticing…

“Aw come on, doc, let me fight the human!” Undyne demanded. “It's been your turn since forever! And you haven't even managed to catch one yet-”

Flustered, Gaster hastened to shush her. He glanced at Asgore, blue in the face, too flustered to notice how the human had edged a few steps closer to the tunnel entrance.

“Th-that's not true!” he rebuked, shouting more at Asgore than Undyne, in a tone that was obviously insincere. “I have captured every human that has ever fallen down here! They don't call me The Slayer of Souls for nothing-!”

“You're not fooling anyone, ’Dings,” Undyne interrupted, unimpressed.

“Don't call me that!”

“You're so bad at this!” she continued, and pointed a webbed finger at his skulls. “Even your Blasters are wimps! They're more like dogs than weapons!”

A skull ducked behind its master, whimpering.

“You see? You're obviously not up to the task, doc. So maybe you should stand aside and let a _real_ fighter deal with it-”

“You are a _child_!” Gaster snapped, emphasizing every syllable. “And I will not let a child put themselves in danger-!”

“I told you, I'm not a kid, I'm a Royal-”

“Stop interrupting me!”

“Gaah, whatever!” Undyne said with a dismissive gesture and a smirk, as her magic took form in her other hand. She gripped the energy in her claws, and it took shape as a brilliant turquoise spear. “You take a seat, old man, I'll show you how it's done- where'd he go?”

“Huh?” Gaster's eyes snapped to Asgore - or rather, the now empty spot where he had been standing.

Gaster cursed, chiding himself for his oversight as he leapt from the cliff. Carried by his blue energy, he landed at the entrance and hit the ground running, propelled by his magic and sheer fury.

“ _Human_!” he bellowed. Asgore heard him loud and clear, him and his roaring skulls, and ran even faster. He didn't dare to hazard a glance at the monster; he knew what he'd see - serrated teeth, volatile magic, and glowing eyes blazing with a fury that would make all hell tremble. And Gaster would look even more frightening.

This proved to be a poor choice when a laser beam sliced the air aside his face. The heat was enough to scald his cheek, and the shock of the near-miss sent him reeling to the side. He stumbled, bent double, arms reaching, ready to catch himself should he fall, when a magic hand grazed his other side. The searing energy cut through his shirt, through his skin, spattering red onto the cavern floor. However, the blow had struck with enough force to right his balance, and he stumbled until he could run again.

Just when he had regained his gait, a hand clamped around his ankle and pulled him to the floor.

He landed flat on his front. He went down so hard and so quickly his attempt to save himself came too late, and his palms scraped painfully over the rocky ground. His blood smeared the rough surface, the gashes in his arms were peppered with stones and the cut on his top lip spilled the taste of iron into his mouth.

A hand was hovering above him. Asgore couldn't see it from where he lay. He felt its aura, that terrible energy that had become utterly unmistakable to him. He felt it flare.

He rolled out of the way just in time for it to smack into the ground. It recoiled, pawing uselessly at the air, like a claw-grabber arcade machine that had missed its target. Asgore pushed himself up, and his injured arms and lower back screamed with the effort. There was something warm against his shoulder blade, something wet, and it was sticking his shirt to his skin. His barely healed wounds had reopened, and sent another surge of paralysing agony through his torso.

He pulled himself to his feet, and it took every ounce of his determination to do so.

Gaster was approaching. Drenched in black, silhouetted in cyan, eyes glowing white with hatred. To Asgore, he looked like Death itself.

“I told you, human,” he said, voice quivering, “no one makes a fool of WD Gaster!”

“Stop…!” Asgore pleaded, bent double and wheezing pathetically. He cursed his ageing body as he gasped for enough air to speak. “Gaster, if you must insist on chasing me, please, at least take the child to safety first-”

“NGAAAAAHH!”

A burst of turquoise cut the darkness open. Asgore lurched back just in time to avoid losing his nose, though she did manage to trim part of his beard. He let out a grunt as a weight hit his chest, and he was pushed back down to the ground. Undyne’s sneaker-clad foot held him down, and he grimaced as another twinge shot through his bleeding back.

“You better be watching closely, doc!” she proclaimed, holding a crackling magical spear aloft her head. “Now’s your chance to see how a true human hunter does it!”

She raised the spear, the point aimed squarely between Asgore’s widening eyes.

“Don't blink!”

Asgore braced, covering his face with his arms.

“No-!”

The weight lifted from his chest. The blazing agony he had expected to be ripping through his skin and muscle and bone never came, and Undyne was shouting, demanding, irate. Asgore lifted his shaking arms, still waiting for the pain, but his attacker was gone.

Blue magical hands lifted her into the air, holding her by the undersides of her arms, and she was kicking and punching and yelling in resistance. Gaster was stood before her, arms folded and eyebrow raised, thoroughly unimpressed. Suddenly, he looked far less like Death, and more like a father putting his child in Time Out.

“Put me down!” she demanded.

“Not until you learn to listen to your superiors!” he retorted, directing the hands to settle the young monster down on the ground next to him, though they still didn't let go. “Now you will stay there until I am done. The Queen will hear about your insubordination, and then you'll be in real trouble-”

“He's getting away again.”

“What?!”

There was little cause for alarm. Unlike last time, Asgore had not gone far. Between his aching back and his reopened wounds, Asgore’s injuries kept him restrained within their seizing grip, and it took a great effort for him to get back on his feet. He tried to run, but the agony squeezed him again and his steps faltered. The greatest speed he could move at was an unsteady hobble.

He was still escaping. He was still a moving target.

Gaster’s magic sparked.

“Undyne,” he growled, his left eye changing colour, “I need you to stay very still now.”

“Oh my God, are you gonna-”

Gaster reached out his arms, and the tunnels were awash with his magic. The very air was thick with it: a freezing blue that dimmed even the scorching lights of Hotland, and Asgore felt its pressure. Gaster spoke through his teeth.

“Last warning.”

A terrible noise was rising, like dissonant notes from the frayed strings of a broken violin, churning and gurgling with a low distorted growl, and Asgore knew what it was. His chest was squeezed again in pain and terror, and he didn't dare turn back, he kept his eyes on the red light at the end of the tunnel and watched the colours morph before his eyes: pink, purple, indigo, blue. Cyan.

He heard the Blasters let out a mighty roar as they fired their beams.

———

Gaster swung his arm in a wide arc, his gesture too irate to concern itself with accuracy. This was a scattershot, a rain of fury and desperation and murderous intent, and the magic struck with all the force of a lightning bolt, ripping chasms through the ground, the walls, the ceiling, reaching so far as to strike the stalagmites above, and the walls of Hotland far beyond, tearing asunder all it touched. He swung, commanding his chaos to strike again, again, again, until the walls were carved with murals of his fury, until the ground was broken and treacherous, until the human would be sliced into bloody slivers—

The magic faded. Rock was still cracking, still falling. Gaster was catching his breath, and his Blasters had disappeared, exhausted. Undyne watched on with eyes and mouth open wide, earth spattered across her astounded expression.

The dust cleared. The human lay on his front, a slab of rock on his leg.

Gaster would have smirked if he had the energy. He swallowed and strode forward, refusing to let his quivering body show weakness in front of Undyne, and certainly not the human.

The human, who was dead.

Gaster drew nearer, readying himself for the sight of viscera, of mangled limbs and blood and empty eyes. He saw the blood first. A pool of it, seeping out from a gash in his forearm. Another on his waist. The leg had likely been damaged by the falling rocks. His body was mostly intact; he had managed to dodge most of the Blasters’ attacks somehow. Gaster couldn't see his face, didn't dare to turn him over, to touch him at all, to check for a pulse. Asgore was showing no signs of life.

He was just laying there. Still. Unmoving.

That made sense. He was dead after all.

Asgore was dead. Dead.

He had killed him.

Gaster wasn't aware he had stopped breathing.

_Take the soul. Take the soul._

He held out his arm, and readied his magic. He told himself to focus, focus, remember the techniques he had studied, draw his magic, draw the soul-

The human coughed.

Gaster snatched back his arm, as though he were reeling from the open jaws of a wild creature. The human was stirring, groaning, its shoulder rising, disturbing the debris and the dust that lay atop him. Then the limb fell, exhausted by the minimal effort.

Gaster didn't have the energy left to get angry. He tried to roll his eyes and sag his shoulders, to express his annoyance, but all he felt was disappointment. The human was stunned, shoulders rolling as it attempted to lift itself off the ground. It wouldn’t get far, so long as that rock remained on its leg. The human shifted its arm, reaching out for something, for help, refusing to just lay down and die. Such typical human behaviour. Worse than that, Asgore’s feeble movements had set the rock on its bicep wobbling, but failed to knock it off. He was so weak, so utterly powerless, he couldn't even manage that much. Gaster grit his teeth, heart set afire by malice.

Humans were vile creatures. Savage, vicious, thirsty for the blood of others; they would even kill their own kind to satisfy their abhorrent lust for violence. That was what Gaster knew for certain. That was what all of monsterkind knew humanity to be. It was a universal constant. It was fact.

Asgore defied all that he knew to be truth.

At that, Gaster lost his patience, and hauled Asgore out from underneath the rubble with a single magical hand.

He almost dropped him. The human was even heavier than he had estimated. Gaster summoned another hand to catch him by the back of his shirt before he could drop him. The human didn't struggle. It just hang there, head bowed, stones falling from its dishevelled hair, beads of blood dripping from its fingertips.

Gaster grimaced.

“You are a truly pathetic creature,” he said, trying to growl, managing only a tired sigh, “and you know it, don't you? It's time I put you out of your misery-”

“Hey!”

The teenage warrior came scurrying to Gaster’s side.

“Hey doc, let me do it!” she said, her request more of a demand than a polite offer to help Gaster with his work. “If I tell the Queen I killed a human, she'll make me Captain of the Royal Guard for sure!”

“Undyne, this is not a game!” the hunter snapped. “It's not safe here anymore. I won't tell you again: leave, now!”

“But-”

All of Gaster’s six hands returned to him, magic flaring with all the force it could muster.

“Must I remove you myself?!”

“Woah, okay, okay, sorry!” Undyne said, hands raised indignantly, her apology insincere. “But don't blame me if you end up as the human’s next meal!”

With that, she ran off, until she disappeared into Hotland’s light. Gaster watched her until she was gone before he calmed. Two of his hands faded as he breathed a sigh of relief. With that taken care of, he turned his attention back to the human.

Who was smiling at him.

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

Gaster bristled. Asgore’s gratitude grated against him with all the coarseness of an insult, and his face flushed in discomfort. He responded, of course, with grace and maturity.

He launched the human into the opposite wall.

———

Asgore could feel the skin on his back turning black with bruises. Wounds old and new were bleeding rivulets across his body. His shirt was thick with it. Its warmth provided him an odd sort of comfort. He choked on dust, lungs and stomach straining, head pounding, and he felt something peculiar leaving him, something important, like a countdown plummeting into single digits.

It was a sensation hitherto unknown to Asgore, before he had descended into the Underground. It was only with the help of the resident monsters’ patient explanations that he had come to recognise this awful feeling as his HP, his Hit Points, his health, deteriorating. He felt it drop.

It was becoming difficult to focus. Pain was everywhere. All around him. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. And when he became aware of the sound of heeled shoes approaching him, he was sure there would be more pain to come.

But that was all right. For he knew that relief would soon follow.

Magic seized Asgore’s shoulders and hauled him up, pinning him to the jagged wall. The edges of sharp rock wedged into an uncomfortable spot beneath Asgore’s shoulder blade and he grimaced.

“Still alive,” Gaster grumbled, bitterly disappointed. “Bloody determined humans. Why must you take so long to just die?”

Asgore was briefly tugged away from the wall, before the hands slammed him back down. He was only vaguely aware of it. The agony from the innumerable impacts and lacerations his body had suffered was the only sensation keeping him lucid. He thought he felt the walls shake.

Gaster’s magic restrained him in a vice-like grip. He didn't struggle.

He felt the hands hesitate.

“Ah,” said Gaster, calmer now. “Not long left I see.”

There was a warmth. Coming from somewhere. Not sure where. Could have been the air. Could have been the magic. Could have been the blood.

“Don't worry. I will be swift.”

Could have been that voice.

The heat left him, and Asgore at last stirred, tired eyes seeking the lost comfort. Gaster was but a blur of black and blue, the tunnel awash with grey and red, and suddenly black. Just one speck, a dash of deep and dark and far away. It distracted Asgore from the agony, from the deathly glow of Gaster’s magic, and he squinted at the misplaced colour, trying to focus his eyes well enough that he could identify it.

Instead, he heard a rumble. Then a crack. And then he knew.

He came back to life with a start.

“Gaster, run!” he rasped. “The ceiling, it’s going to collapse!”

“Yes, yes, keep it up,” the monster said, disinterested, rolling his eyes as he charged what little of his magic remained. His conjured hands were yet to seize their prey. “Moments away from death and you're still trying to trick me. I won't fall for your lies again, fiend. How stupid do you think I am-?”

A fissure ripped through the ceiling with an audible _crack!_

That got Gaster’s attention. The smugness drained from his expression and the colour drained from his face as he turned his head to watch the ceiling tear apart.

Right above him.

The tunnel moved about them in a blur, rolling and flipping and cracking and thundering, their entire world turning upside down as it collapsed about their shoulders. Asgore had summoned the last vestiges of his strength, the cries of his ripping wounds going unheard as he tore away from the wall and lunged at Gaster. He held the monster tight to his chest as he shoved them both out of the range of the falling ceiling. Asgore’s back hit the ground hard, Gaster safe atop the human’s bleeding body, protected still by his ravaged arms and legs as they skidded across the jagged floor and out of the way of the falling rocks just as they smashed onto the ground. The great force of the collision hurled them further, ricocheting off the tunnel floor as a rain of stones pelted them like winter hail. Asgore’s shoulders hit the opposite wall, and they at last came to a stop.

He laid still as the world continued to shift and spin around him. He waited for it to settle, vaguely aware of the smaller man lying beneath him. The smaller man he was currently crushing beneath his body weight.

Guilt stirred him into wakefulness. Stammering apologies, Asgore pushed himself up onto his burning arms, suddenly hyper-aware of which of his limbs were making contact with Gaster’s. He had managed to avoid touching him anywhere inappropriate, something he was sure they’d both be glad for. However, the monster looked less than pleased.

Furious, in fact.

“Sorry!” Asgore said again, hands gesturing, unsure of where to put themselves. He was cringing in equal parts soreness and embarrassment, but was much less concerned with his own wounds than any harm he might have accidentally dealt to Gaster. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry! Are you all right? Did I hurt you-”

Before he could utter one more apology, Gaster planted both palms flat on Asgore’s chest. Cyan sparked at his fingertips, coursing like veins across Asgore’s body, and Gaster’s eyes were wild, his teeth gritted, his little white lights like daggers in the dark, and Asgore heard his voice shouting, straining under effort and rage, as he unleashed his attack.

The focused blast of energy propelled Asgore off of his attacker, into the air, and he felt his bruises deepening as he landed once more upon his back.

He wasted no time. It was only thanks to luck that he had landed at such an angle that the force of Gaster’s attack provided him with enough momentum to roll off his battered back and onto his feet, just in time for a magic hand to punch the earth beside him. The monster was irate, hurling hands and insults, screaming something about how he would not be fooled by the human’s manipulation and false niceties, and pursued him with renewed vigour and ferocity as his target ran for the exit. Asgore didn’t stop to listen, and abandoned all hope of calming the monster. Apparently it would take more than a daring attempt to save his life to earn Gaster’s trust.

Though his HP was looking dim, the light at the end of the tunnel was looking brighter than ever. The hands were grabbing him, cutting him, but escape was so close now, so close Asgore swore he could reach out and grasp it-

A flash of turquoise.

Undyne. Waiting for them. Spears ready.

“I knew you’d screw this up, doc!” Undyne flashed a grin as deadly as her magic. “You rest your tired old bones and let me take care of-”

Asgore jumped right over her head.

“Pardon me!”

“ _Hey!_ ”

Hotland was the perfect name for the place, Asgore thought, as he turned the corner and collided with a wall of a vicious heat. The scorching air raked like nails across his open wounds, it turned his pain sweats hot against his skin, and he wished he hadn’t worn his hiking gear that day. Between blinks he saw with dry eyes a giant neon sign reading: “WELCOME TO HOTLAND”. Asgore was sure he would have enjoyed the warm welcome better if he wasn’t batter, bruised, and being chased by two bloodthirsty monsters.

They were hot on his heels, as were their magical projectiles, though not one magical attack was hitting its target. Asgore thanked his lucky stars and the monsters were currently too busy bickering amongst themselves to properly line up their shots. Undyne was insistent that she be allowed a turn to catch the human; Gaster was still trying to persuade the headstrong guard-in-training to leave him be, and Asgore had no intent to placate either of them. While they remained distracted, he put some ground between them, and then a bridge, more ground, more heat, another bridge, a very out of place water-cooler, and a building was looming over the horizon, tall and solid white against the molten shadows. _Sanctuary!_

He set his sights on the doors and pushed himself to keep going, wiping blood and sweat from his forehead and gasping for breath and he was already halfway to the building when he noticed the monsters’ bickering had silenced.

The quiet disturbed him. He was in too much danger to stop, too curious not to look. He slowed to a jog and hazarded a glance over his shoulder.

Undyne was lying face-down in the dirt, panting, unmoving. Gaster stood above her, hands on his head and eyes wide with panic.

He skidded to a clumsy halt, and felt suddenly cold.

“Agh, you silly girl!” Gaster said, his words far more chiding than his worried tone. “I _warned_ you, I warned you _so_ many times! You _know_ you can’t take the heat here!”

Asgore understood. This was the danger Gaster had been trying to save her from. Of course, how could a fish-like monster survive in a place like Hotland?

Asgore was at once relieved that she had not suffered an injury at the hands of the doctor, and at once distressed for the poor girl’s health. She needed to be returned to Waterfall immediately- but what if that took too long- she was gasping for air- like a beached fish-

A fish out of _water!_

He didn’t know what genius thought to install a water-cooler in such an oddly convenient place, but if he ever met them, he would shake their hand and buy them a drink. After he provided one for Undyne first.

He scurried over to the machine, desperate hands fumbling with the delicate plastic cups and the too-small buttons. He jammed a cup under the nozzle and still managed to spill some on the floor. It quickly evaporated with a sizzling hiss.

Cup now filled to the brim, Asgore hobbled over to Undyne's still limp body, water droplets raining from his hands and turning to steam at his feet as he fell to his knees beside her. He reached for her shoulder, hands shaking, hesitant to touch her, as though the slightest bit of heat from his palm would be too much for her wilting, overheated body.

He pressed his hand to her shoulder, waiting for her to respond, hoping for any sign of life. His touch was light, comforting yet timid, fingers straining to keep themselves raised in fear of breaking her. He felt her muscles tense, and gasped.

_Alive!_

Asgore turned her over, carefully, as though she were made of glass and might shatter at the slightest disturbance. He untied his jacket from around his waist and dipped the sleeve into the cup, spilling water onto the ground and Undyne’s arm. He wrung the sleeve until it stopped dripping, and dabbed it carefully on her forehead. He remembered then that he had read about heat stroke once, many years ago. It was when he was trying to pass the time in a clinic waiting room; he had come across an emergency first aid pamphlet when he was browsing the available reading material, and it contained a page on how to help someone recover from heatstroke.

Stars above, how he wished he could remember what it had said.

Water. Something about water. He was certain of that - it was obvious, after all. Cool water, applied lightly to the skin, the forehead - perhaps the neck? Only a little, he thought, too much would shock her system and he didn’t want to hurt the poor thing. Even more than he already had.

Undyne made no sound. No movement besides the fluttering of her eyelashes. More needed to be done, of that Asgore was certain, but _what_ exactly needed to be done was lost on him. She was surely dehydrated, but was it really a good idea to pour water into the mouth of an unconscious person? Gaster was offering no assistance. He must have been just as clueless as he was. Wasn’t he a doctor?

Asgore was still patting her forehead, her neck, silently begging for her to wake - or he thought he was silent until he heard his own voice, strangled and breathless, speaking to her, calling to her, don’t be gone, don’t give up, don’t leave, _don’t let this happen again-_

Undyne let out a long, irritated groan.

She curled into Asgore’s arm, blindly waving a lazy hand in the air to swat the damp sleeve away from her face.

“Heeey,” she complained, like a teenager awoken ten minutes before their alarm was set to go off, “quit it. Get dat thing outta my face…”

A light came on, like the defeat of an omen, like the inevitable itself had been chased away. Elation flooded Asgore’s lungs, ejecting all air in one sharp breath.

“Oh! Oh, thank goodness!” he said, half gasping, half laughing. “You’re all right! She’s all right.”

He gathered her little body into his arms: still so small, no matter how tough she acted. He dipped his jacket sleeve into the cup again, and continued to press it to her forehead and neck, smiling as he dodged her attempts to hit his hand away, like a half-asleep kitten.

“Aah, thank heavens for that,” Asgore said again, sighing with such relief he could feel his heart rate slowing. He perked up again when he remembered the other monster. “Oh, doctor Gaster, do you need a drink as well?”

But he was already gone.

 

 

 


	5. Miscommunicate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey everyone. Long time no see! <:D;  
> Sorry this fic hasn't updated in five-ever. Life happened, work happened - the usual. I do genuinely want to get back to writing this though. Something exciting to write is coming up so that should help make sure this fic stays alive! Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
> (It was finished at the early hours of the morning mind you, so apologies in advance if there are any errors I will fix them tomorrow ahaha;;)

Asgore’s gentle attempts to nudge the monster child into waking were met with a long, stubborn moan.

“Mooom,” Undyne whined, still half-asleep, “stooop. Dun wanna get up…”

A little reluctantly, he shook her again.

“ _Nuuuh, mooom_! Quit it, I'm awake already!”

At last she opened her eyes, squinting into Hotland’s harsh light, and was met with a face that was very much not her mother’s.

Memories came flooding back, her eyes widened, and she pounced out of Asgore’s hands like they might dust her. She thought to scream when the palms upturned, displaying themselves to her in a placating gesture, and the malice she had imagined they contained was gone.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Asgore reassured her, voice as warm as the air around them. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. You passed out quite suddenly. Are you feeling all right?”

His kind words disarmed her, but as a warrior, Undyne knew better than to let her guard down completely. “Wh-what? What do you mean I passed-” She blinked as a bead of water dripped into her eye. Thinking it to be sweat, she wiped it off, surprised when her whole finger came back wet. She frowned. Why was her face covered in water?

“Ah, I apologise,” the human said, abashed as he brought his hands to his chest. “You were faint from the heat; I had to get you some water - it was the first thing I thought to do—”

“Shut up!” Undyne spat. No matter how she bared her serrated teeth or how hard she glared at him, she couldn’t quite cover up the embarrassed blush on her cheeks. “I don’t _faint_!”

She did. Quite often.

Every time she came to Hotland, in fact.

Asgore blinked. “But you—”

“No! I don’t!”

Up went his hands again, palms forward, asking for peace. “Okay! I’m sorry!”

“And you didn’t have to help me!” she went on yelling. “I would have been fine by myself! A Royal Guardswoman doesn’t need _anyone’s_ help! Definitely not the help of some _human_!”

Her indignant shouting was doing nothing to perturb the human, as she had hoped it would. He didn’t back down, he didn’t back off, he didn’t even _move_. He just lowered his hands and smiled at her with kindness, like a weirdo.

“All right,” he said, “I understand. Then won’t you at least find someone who can help you? You should get that seen to.”

The human pointed toward her. Undyne followed its direction, which led to her leg, or rather, a pair of twin cuts spiralling down her knee. Nothing bad, she thought; it was hardly bleeding. She’d sustained worse injuries in playground fights, and much worse injuries when she sparred with the Queen. This was nothing. Although, it was in a rather irritating spot. It itched with pain every time she bent her knee.

She affixed the human with another glare. In her mind’s eye, she was the very image of a strong, battle-ready warrior whose angered stare could strike fear into the heart of any human, even hulking mutants like Asgore.

Asgore wrestled with the smile trying to fight its way across his face. Her childish pout was adorable.

“I _said_ : I don’t _need_ help!” Undyne repeated. “I can take care of myself! Watch!”

She dropped to a knee and closed her eyes before Asgore could interrupt her, her hands and her focus upon her injuries. A green light enveloped her fingers and Asgore flinched from the magic. However, it didn’t spark like he expected it to. This magic wasn’t malicious, it was the exact opposite. Like a hand wrapping itself protectively around Undyne’s knee, the magic gently caressed her injuries, growing in brightness until it became a vivid green. As the magic faded, unfolding itself from the damaged skin, the cuts disappeared with it. Asgore’s eyes went wide, lips curling into a smile.

“You can heal,” he said with delight.

Undyne had never gotten along with compliments. She didn’t know what to do with them. And she certainly didn’t know what to do with compliments from a human.

“Yeah? So what?” she grumbled, getting to her feet. “So can a lot of monsters. Healing magic isn’t uncommon; it’s nothing special.”

“Why does that matter?” the human asked, eyes bright. “It’s a very useful and important ability — the most important magic a monster could have, if you ask me.” Seeing his words were doing nothing to Undyne’s stance on the matter, he changed tack. “Especially for a Royal Guardswoman in training, no? You could help so many people!”

She stamped the ground with her healed leg, testing she had repaired it correctly. “That’s not what the Royal Guard does,” she growled. “They help people by beating up bad guys.”

“Hm. Well… Can’t they do both?” Asgore offered. “Using your powers to help others is an even greater strength than vanquishing your foes.”

Undyne regarded him with a piercing stare, her brow quirked.

“See, this is why you lost to that wussy doctor.”

Asgore forced a laugh. _Wussy_? He wouldn’t call someone wielding magic capable of eradicating him in a matter of seconds a “wuss”!

“I lost,” he said, getting carefully to his feet, “because I didn’t want to fight him. And I certainly don’t want to fight you, young one.”

“Don’t call me that,” the young monster spat, face crinkled in distaste. “I have a name, you know! It’s Undyne!”

“Undyne,” Asgore corrected himself, smile widening. “I understand it is your duty as a Royal Guardswoman in training to apprehend any and all humans who fall into the Underground. However, I would like to negotiate a truce with you, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“A _truce_?” she said, spitting the word like it tasted of lemons.

“Yes. At least a temporary one, until you are fully healed and rested?” He brightened as a brilliant idea came to him - and they didn’t grace him with their presence very often. “You wouldn’t want to fight a human when you’re at anything less than your fittest!”

Undyne regarded him with suspicion. He watched with subdued endearment as she considered his offer, her every thought made clear by the ever-changing expressions playing across her face. Her mind made up, she affixed him with another hard stare, though he was relieved to find it lacking menace this time.

“Fine,” she said, acquiescing, “but it’s your funeral, gramps. Next time we fight, you won’t have a chance to beat me!”

Satisfied, Asgore smiled. "It would be an honour to be felled by your hand.”

“Damn right it will.” But she was looking him up and down, frowning as though dissatisfied with something. “But, you know, you’re not gonna survive ‘till our next fight if you go around with injuries like those.”

Asgore looked at himself, and the pain came rushing back. In his urgent need to attend to Undyne’s ails, he had completely forgotten about his own. There was a fair bit of blood on him.

“Ah,” he said, trying to ignore the way his legs were shaking, “you’re quite right!” He laughed, but it didn’t help much.

A green light. Much closer this time, much brighter - so bright Asgore had to close his eyes and turn away. Then there was warmth, gentle caresses, like the air itself had formed hands, hands that were carefully and tenderly stroking over each of his wounds. It felt strange, unlike anything he’d known in his life. The part of his instinctual human mind that feared the unknown wanted him to pull away, but then the magic soothed him again and he settled. When the light finally faded and he was able to open his eyes again, his knees had stopped shaking. All the aches and pains he had felt before were gone. There was only Undyne, standing with her arms folded and her jaw clenched.

“Don’t thank me or anything,” she barked before he had a chance to say anything. “If the Royal Guard hear that I helped a human, they’ll never let me join them! So you had better keep quiet! I only did this so we could fight again in the future, understand?”

It took all of Asgore’s strength not to dote on the adorable child. She was so determined to be cool! “I-I understand,” he said, sucking in his lips to stop himself from smiling.

“Thank you, Undyne.”

“Hmph! Whatever.”

Chuckling, he nodded toward the tunnel’s exit. “Come, I'll take you home. Your mother must be wondering where you are."

Undyne's expression hardened. Her eyes, suddenly cold, dropped to the floor, hiding from the human. Spying a stone, she kicked it, her hands in her pockets.

"I don't have a mom," she said, unusually quiet. "Not anymore."

Asgore felt his stomach twist. "Oh." Then, when she was calling out to her mother in her sleep… A hand went to his chest, to ease the familiar ache building there. "I'm so dreadfully sorry."

Undyne's jaw clenched as she ran her tongue across her sharp teeth, tasting her words before she said them aloud. "S'okay, you didn't know." Changing tack, she eyed him once again with suspicion in her stare. "You're really not like other humans, huh?"

"How do you mean?"

"You didn't even try to kill me," she said, brow quirked and shoulders shrugged, as though her statement was obvious. "Even when Gaster was about to blow you to smithereens, you didn't fight back.” She held out both arms in an indignant gesture. “You didn't even punch him! You could have punched him!"

Asgore's shoulders stiffened as he brought his hands to his chest. "Why would I do that?" he asked, mumbling the words. "That's not a nice thing to do."

Undyne looked at him like he was speaking gibberish. "Yeah! It's not very nice to try to take someone's Soul either!"

"Oh that's right," Asgore said, epiphany sapping the tension from his arms. "He was very determined to take my Soul. But he didn't say why. I don't suppose you would know, would you?"

Undyne slapped a webbed hand on her face.

"Oh my God," she groaned, glaring at him from between her fingers. "You're kidding me, right? You can't be that dumb."

"Huh?" Asgore said, dumbly.

"How could you have gotten this far and not picked up on it yet? Did you walk right by the Librarby? Did you completely miss all the murals that are scattered everywhere around Waterfall? Anyone could have told you..."

She trailed off when her centre of gravity took an unexpected turn. Eyelids heavy and eyes unfocused, she felt suddenly heavy as she swayed to one side. She wasn't looking when Asgore appeared in front of her, bent to a knee and holding her gently by the arms to keep her steady. Blinking and bleary, she saw sorrowful mismatched eyes staring back at her. They were an anchor preventing her fall.

"That's enough for now," said Asgore, his voice a low, soothing rumble. Undyne thought of golden flowers. "You're unwell, you poor thing. Let's get you home."

The young monster didn't resist when Asgore lifted her into his arms. They were broad and thick; Undyne could feel the power in them, a dormant strength with great potential for destruction, kept restrained by the care in his touch. She imagined this must be how other young monsters must feel when their fathers picked them up.

As she drifted between wakefulness and sleep, Undyne felt herself coming to understand Gaster's fear of this human, and at the same time, she realised just how wrong he was.

 

———

 

Elsewhere, Gaster was coming to the same realisation.

Gaster was developing a nasty habit of teleporting before he thought of where to teleport to. He reappeared mid-stride, still as dazed and confused as he had been when he decided it was time he left. He scuffed his shoes across the jagged ground, each step distracted, as he lumbered to a halt.

He didn't know where he was. It didn't matter. He gazed off into the distance, wide eyes seeking but seeing nothing, everything that was present and tangible falling away as it was crushed under the truth of his discovery.

Everything that history had showed him, that books had taught him, that the Queen had instructed him, was wrong. Humans, contrary to popular belief, were not inherently evil.  
In fact, they could be rather pleasant.

And that put a major spanner in Gaster’s works.

Grimacing, he fell back to sit on a rock, and cradled his aching head in his trembling hands.

Fleeing from battle while a young monster child was within the human’s grasp was a reckless decision. He knew that. Or rather, it _would_ have been a reckless decision, if Asgore had not proved himself to be completely harmless.

Just like all the others had been.

Gaster buried his face in his hands and groaned as a wave of shame washed over him. Vaguely aware of a wall behind him, he let himself fall against it. The cold and damp surprised him - ah, so he was in Waterfall then - but he didn’t let it disturb him from his sulking.

What was he going to berate himself for next? Oh yes-

What would the Queen think if she knew he had left a monster child at the mercy of a fully grown human?

Gaster shook his head, jaw clenched as he turned his gaze to the ceiling. He knew exactly what she'd think, and what she would do. She would kill Asgore where he stood. She wouldn't stop to wonder his name, his life, his reasons for being in the Underground. For he was a Soul first, a human second, and a life last of all.

This was the Queen's stalwart belief of all humans. She had lived far longer than most monsters. Only she and a handful of others still remembered the war. There were no grey areas in her world, only black and white - though she would never admit to it. As far as she was concerned, once a man had sinned he was forever a sinner. That went for all of humanity too.

Five humans had so far fallen into the Underground. Fallen down. Fallen at her hand. Each was centuries apart, each vastly different from those that fallen before them. Gaster had sometimes felt he was the only one who had noticed these differences. It was his job, after all, to study, to document, to observe. And ultimately, when the deed was done, to preserve. It was what the Queen had employed him to do.

It was an unending source of frustration for him. For why would the Queen set him to a task she had no interest in?

She did not care for the development of humanity. She had turned a blind eye to Gaster's documenting of their changing behaviours and ideologies; she cared not for their achievements, their scientific advancements, their social progress, their endeavours for peace. Gaster wondered how she might squirm to know that his creation, the CORE, the generator that kept all of the Underground on the grid, was only made possible thanks to his understanding of human technologies.

Gaster thought her ways of thinking to be archaic, outmoded, and utterly defunct.

But it all made so much sense. That was the worst part of it. For the less she knew of her enemy's humanity, the easier it would be for her to slaughter them. Gaster could not bring himself to follow her way of thinking.

Gaster could not bring himself to kill Asgore.

He chewed on his bottom lip.

 _He means no harm,_ he lamented, _so I cannot bring harm to him._

His resolve changed nothing. The truths of their world remained unaltered.

They needed human Souls to break the barrier. They couldn't be picky about their targets. They couldn't waste time waiting for a villainous human to fall - another century might pass before that happened.

Asgore had to die.

At least Gaster, unlike the Queen, was not yet a murderer, his hands unsullied by blood, his LV still low, his Soul still free of guilt’s terrible weight. At least Gaster, unlike the Queen, would ensure Asgore died quickly, and as painlessly as possible. He took solace in that.

His hands would not stop trembling.

 

———

 

The trail of destruction Gaster had left in his wake rendered the tunnel impassable. Given no other choice, Asgore and Undyne continued deeper into Hotland, but not before Asgore could gather a fresh cup of water, just in case.

"Where do you live, my dear?" he asked her.

"Waterfall,” she said, taking a sip of her water.

"Ah, I feared as much,” he said. “I've been trying to get back there myself, but I am not sure how."

"Yeah, it’s kind of annoying. There’s no path back from here. Even if the tunnel wasn’t destroyed, we wouldn’t be able to get back. So hitching a ride with Riverperson is the best way to go.”

Asgore grimaced. “Is there no other way? I fear the heat might overwhelm you again.”

Undyne pouted, squared her shoulders and puffed out her chest. “Nuh-uh! Hot air can't beat me twice! If it tries anything, I'll beat the stuffing out of it!”

The human blinked, the corners of his lips involuntarily twitching upward. “You would beat up…thin air?”

“Heck yeah I will! And I can, too! Ask the Queen if you don't believe me!”

Asgore laughed a raspy chuckle. His throat had to remind itself how to make the sound. “I believe you,” he said. “I bet you could beat up anything, corporeal or not.”

“Yeah! I can!” Undyne cheered, the encouragement lighting a fire in her eyes. She brandished her fists to further prove her point, the water in her cup sloshing about. “Not even the most abstract concept stands a chance against the Captain of the Royal Guard!”

“Future Captain,” he patiently reminded her, smile filling with cheer as she pouted. “And you can conquer the hot air later. For now, let’s put your sense of direction to the test.”

Undyne took the bait unhesitatingly.

“I can do that! I know every part of the Underground! Like the back of my hand!”

“Thank goodness! I would be lost without you!”

She liked the sound of that.

“Please, won't you guide me?” he asked.

“Sure! Just watch your step around here, gramps. Don't want you putting your back out again!”

 

———

 

Asgore immediately liked the Riverperson. He liked their warm welcomes and their calming voice. Most of all, he liked their singing. He didn’t mind their apparent lack of a face; that wouldn’t be the strangest thing he had seen since he’d fallen, and besides, he was just glad to be back in the company of a monster that didn’t want to kill him.

“Let’s go to Snowdin,” Undyne said.

“Huh? Snowdin?” Asgore repeated, returning to the present. “But that’s quite a distance away from your home, isn’t it?”

“I wanna visit someone first,” she explained, rhythmically tapping her now empty cup. Asgore listened and realised she was following the rhythm of the Riverperson’s song. Did Undyne like music?

“Ah, I see,” he said, smiling. “Then of course, we shall go there.”

Hearing their request, the Riverperson lifted their oar, and their boat raised with it. Asgore supposed that was their invitation to board.

Undyne hopped on without hesitation, and told Asgore to hurry up. As he clambered aboard his weight threatened to topple the boat and its passengers into the water. Regaining his balance he sat himself down, blubbering apologies all the while. But the Riverperson kept on singing their merry tune, and with a wave of their oar, they were on their way.

The motion of the boat didn’t feel quite like how a regular boat would move, Asgore noted. It rather felt like they were bouncing across the surface, or skipping across it. And was that a cat face on the front of the boat?

But the journey was pleasant enough. They moved at a brisk pace through the tunnels, and the crisp breeze came as a welcome reprieve from Hotland’s scalding temperatures. Asgore sighed, relieved to be free from the place, and settled back into the seat as he enjoyed the sound of the Riverperson’s song. He wasn’t sure what they meant by “beware of the man who speaks in hands” though. What peculiar lyrics.

It did remind him of a certain someone though. Someone he could not rid from his thoughts.

“Do you know Mr Gaster?” he asked Undyne, breaking their silence.

“Uh, yeah? Who doesn't?” She blinked. “Oh wait yeah you're from the surface. He's so famous it seems weird that someone wouldn't know him, you know?”

“Oh my. Is that so?”

“Yeah. Kind of happens when you're pretty much the Queen’s right hand man.”

“Oh I see!” Asgore said. “So he is the current Captain of the Royal Guard then?”

Undyne curled her lip. “What? No. What made you think that?”

Asgore scratched his beard, brow knotted. “Well,” he mumbled, “he _did_ try to kill me a few times.”

“But he doesn't even wear any cool armour!” Undyne protested emphatically, arms in the air. “Or use any kick-ass weapons like swords or spears!”

Asgore chuckled, reinvigorated by her abundance of youthful energy. “You make a good point! Hm, but if he isn't the Captain, then what is he?”

He could not have predicted Undyne’s response.

“He's the Royal Scientist.”

Asgore blinked.

“A scientist?”

“Yup.”

“Oh.” He let that truth settle in. “I… did think he was rather eloquent in the way he spoke. That explains it!”

Undyne looked at him quizzically. “You're taking this really well for someone who was very nearly torn to shreds.”

“But I wasn't!” he said, jovial. “And thanks to your help my injuries are already on the mend.” His smile fell, and his gaze wandered. “Hm, but I wonder where Mr Gaster disappeared to. I do hope he's all right.”

The monster child balked. “Huh? What do you mean you hope he's okay? He tried to kill you, remember?”

“He didn't mean it!” Asgore said emphatically.

Undyne looked at him like he’d just tried to convince her that monsters and humans could be good friends.

“He literally tried to blow you up,” she said, slowly, so Asgore would understand her. “I'm pretty sure he meant to do that.”

“No, I don't think so,” he said, shaking his head.

Undyne, astounded by his stupidity, lost her patience as quickly as she had gathered it. “You - what? Why?!”

“He hesitated.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“He's attacked me twice since he found me in Waterfall,” he explained, “and he had plenty of opportunities to… to end me.” He scratched his arm. He chuckled, bitter. “I'm not a hard target to miss, and I don't move very fast. But Gaster is nimble, and very powerful! I gave him many chances to kill me.” He gestured to himself, his smile small and tired. “Yet, I'm still here.” He lowered his arms, and his gaze fell with them. “He didn't want to kill me. I'm certain of that.”

Undyne glared at him through squinting eyes, thoroughly unconvinced. She folded her arms and blew the thick shock of red hair out of her face with a huffed sigh.  
“You talk about him like he's your best friend or somethin’.”

Asgore’s smile grew into something genuine.

“That would be nice.”

“Ugh,” Undyne grimaced, curling her lip, “you're a total wimpy loser. And I thought humans were supposed to be cool.”

 

———

 

Snowdin was a sight for Asgore’s sore, tired eyes. Its chilly atmosphere came as a shock so shortly after enduring Hotland’s pressing heat, but it was a welcome reprieve to Undyne. Refreshed by the chill and her energy restored, she hopped out of the boat before it touched the shore.

“I'll be fine by myself from here, gramps!” she said, jogging on the spot and raring to go. “Thanks for the help, I'll see ya later. Try not to let Gaster kill you, okay?”

“Wait, wait,” Asgore called to her before she could run off, a hand outstretched to her as he clambered out of the boat. He muttered a quick thanks to the Riverperson before they too went on their way. “I'm coming with you. I want to make sure you get home safe.”

“Uh. I _am_ home. Besides, I’m going to visit someone, remember?”

“Aye,” he said with a patient smile, “but you're not at their door yet! I'll walk you there.”

“Ugh!” Undyne groaned petulantly. “You're treating me like I'm a little kid or something! Knights don't need chaperones, gramps!”

“No,” he said, resisting the urge to tousle her hair, “but knights-in-training do. Come on. I'll only bother you for a little while longer, I promise. Put an old man’s mind at ease?”

Undyne rolled her eyes at such a degree that her head had to roll with them. “Fine!” With a frustrated gesture, she begrudgingly led the way. “Jeez, no wonder Gaster thinks you're annoying…”

“Oh. I did wonder about that.” He fidgeted with his fingers. “Uhm, could you please elaborate for me? I wish I knew what I had done to insult him-”

“You've done nothing!” Undyne barked.

“Oh I'm sure I must have done something-”

“No, you don't get it! You've done _nothing_! That's the problem!”

Asgore blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re nothing like what a human should be!” Undyne said, suddenly incensed. “Humans are supposed to be terrifying! They're super strong! During the war between monsters and humans, their armies forced every single monster Underground - and there was nothing we could do to stop them! _That's_ how strong they are!”

“Ah, yes,” Asgore said, feet dragging through the snow as he dropped his gaze. “I remember reading about that.”

“I mean we can take people’s souls, sure,” Undyne continued as though Asgore hadn't spoke, “but we’re all so peaceful and pacifistic - fat lot of good that did us in the war! But you! All it would take is one punch from you, and - poof! I would instantly turn into dust!”

Asgore flinched. “Wh-what?”

“I know, right?!” she said, brightening. “It's so cool! I wish I had that kind of power-”

“Th-that isn't cool at all!” Asgore said. He passed a hand over his face, features taught and brow furrowed. “Oh dear. Oh no, that's terrible. No wonder poor Mr Gaster-”

“Yeah!” she laughed. “That was hilarious! I've never seen him look so scared!”

Asgore inhaled, and held the breath, as though it would defend him from the sinking feeling of dread and worry pooling in his stomach. It didn't work.

“Oh,” was the only syllable he could manage. His guilty gaze drifted. Undyne watched as it turned away from her.

“What? You don't actually feel bad about it, do you? I mean, it's not like you knew. Also: he tried to kill you. And take your soul! Why feel bad?”

“Ignorance is no excuse,” Asgore said, shaking his head. “He has a legitimate reason to fear me. And to… want me dead.” He took a breath, refreshing his lungs and his thoughts. “Do you know where I might find him?” he asked.

Undyne raised her eyebrows. “Huh? Wow, you really do have a death wish, huh?”

Asgore chuckled, bitterly. “I would like to talk to him. Perhaps, if he would listen, I can convince him I mean well. Then this whole misunderstanding will pass.”

Undyne’s lips were taught, her brow pinched together as she hummed a sceptical note. “I don't know, gramps. I don't like your chances. Besides, I don’t even know where he went.”

“Hmm, I thought not. He does have this uncanny ability to, ah… disappear.”

“Yeah! That’s his magic!” Undyne said, excited again, jumping at the change of subject. “Isn’t it awesome? He can move things with his magic hands and he can use them to attack and he made the Gaster Blasters and he can teleport too and-”

She clamped her jaw shut, to stop herself from rambling on any longer. She straightened her back, cleared her throat, and pretended like she hadn’t just let her inner fangirl loose.

“But yeah, he disappeared. Whatever. He does that sometimes.”

Asgore hid his silly smile behind his hand. He wouldn’t want her to catch him looking at her with an endearing grin.

“Hey, I know,” he said. “I’ll take you to his house. It’s not far from here, and I was on my way there anyway. He’ll have to go back home eventually, and when he does, then you can talk to him.”

Asgore pulled his lips taught, fingers fidgeting again. “Oh I’m not sure about that. Waiting outside his house might seem a little… _forward_. Maybe even a little hostile, since I’m a human and all.”

She quirked a brow at him. For being so young, Asgore noticed, Undyne had the art of the withering stare down pat. “He tried to take your soul,” she repeated. “You can’t get much more hostile than that! So what does it matter?”

He followed after her, trudging through the snow where her feather-light feet danced across its surface. He slowed his much broader stride so he may walk at her pace. “I don’t believe in an eye for an eye.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, well, Gaster doesn’t know that.”

Her gaze dropped, jaw set in thought. Her proud stride came to a slow stop. Asgore halted soon after, watching her with attentive eyes.

“You know, I was being serious before,” she said. “He still wants to kill you. _Actually_ kill you. Your chances of chatting with him over a cup of tea are probably pretty slim, and…” She trailed off. Kicked the snow. “I don't exactly feel great leading you to your death. You’d be safer going back to the flower field. Are you really sure you want to see him?”

Asgore smiled, and his eyes glowed with a genuine warmth that hadn’t touched them in a long time. “Why, Undyne,” he chuckled, “are you worried for the life of a human?”

She balked. “S-so what? You’re not a _human_ human. You’re not violent. You’re a total weenie! You don’t count!”

He blinked, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t count?” he repeated, lost.

“No!” Undyne argued emphatically. “I bet even if Gaster did take your soul, it wouldn’t work right because you’re so…” She gestured, brow furrowed as she tried to find the word. “Nice!”

Another blink. “Nice?”

“Yeah! Humans aren’t nice!”

But a little smile was wiggling its way along the human’s lips.

“You really think I’m nice?”

“UGH.”

She stormed off, little feet no longer skating across the snow, but stabbing through it as she stomped on ahead.

“Keep up, gramps! Or I’ll leave you out here to freeze your butt off!”

 

———

 

Asgore recognised the house. It was sweet and quaint, not unlike the many other dwellings in Snowdin, though it had its own quirks that made it unique. It was decorated with several strings of fairy lights, not currently turned on, and a holly wreath hang beneath the front door window. With snow piled upon its roofs, the sweet little house looked very festive, though Asgore was fairly certain it hadn’t been anywhere near Christmas time when he fell. Perhaps monsters celebrated Christmas at a different time to humans. Wait, did they celebrate Christmas at all? What a perplexing house!

And to top it all off, it looked as though some of the snow on the roof had been disturbed. Asgore could have sworn he could see footprints, like someone had been stood at the very edge of the roof. Had Santa come to visit?

Pondering none of this, Undyne walked right up to the door and knocked on it.

“Yo, Sans! Paps, open up!” She shouted so loud the patrons of Grillby’s bar probably heard her. Asgore recoiled from the unexpected yell. “It’s me! It’s time for Papyrus’ cooking lesson!”

“U-Undyne, I'm sure they can hear you-”

“You underestimate San’s ability to sleep through anything. And I mean anything.” She pounded her fist on the door so hard it rattled on its hinges. “ _SAAAAAANS! GET OUT HERE, LAZYBONES!_ ”

Startled by Undyne's full-on assault of Gaster's front door, Asgore pulled the young monster away, holding her at arm's length as she continued to kick and punch at the air and demand that she be put down. Before he could say anything to placate her, he heard the splintering door's lock turn. It creaked open, miraculously still attached to its hinges, as its sleepy and short-statured occupant stepped into the doorway. He lifted his bony hand to his wide grinning mouth to stifle a yawn. Asgore’s eyes widened in recognition. He knew that cheery grin!

"'Ndyne?" he slurred, rubbing an eyesocket. "Izzat you?"

"Yeah it's me, numbskull,” she grumbled, still dangling from Asgore’s grip. “What took you so long?"

"Young Sans!" Asgore said, all smiles.

"Huh?" When Sans' sleepy brain had at last caught up and put a name to Asgore's familiar face, he blinked into wakefulness. "Wha- Fluffybuns! You came back?"

"Hey, what? You guys know each other?" Undyne asked.

"As a matter of fact, we do," he said, putting her down and giving her an apologetic smile for good measure. "We met- ohh, was it a week ago?"

Sans blinked. "Uh, no, a few days- I thought you said you were going to Waterfall?"

"Ah, I was!" he said, patting Undyne's head. "Until this little one got herself into a spot of trouble. I offered to escort her home. She said she needed to stop by to see you first."

"Yeah but-" Undyne stammered, looking back and forth between them. "Wait a minute, how do you two know each other?"

"Oh, we met in quite the same way I met you," Asgore chuckled. "I was on my way to Snowdin, when Sans and his little brother were-"

"What did the little bonehead do this time?" she interrupted, giving Sans a knowing smirk.

Sans' perennial grin faltered. "You better promise not to laugh at him."

"Sure!"

But Asgore saw how she'd crossed her fingers behind her back. "Undyne! I saw that!"

"Aww, come on, you know I don't mean it!” Undyne laughed, revealing her hand and uncrossing her fingers. “No one would ever want to hurt that little goober."

"Okay," Sans said, grinning again as he slipped his hands into his pockets, "if I tell you what happened to Paps, you gotta tell me what happened to you."

"What? That's not fair-"

"She fainted in the heat," Asgore said.

"Hey!" she barked at him, but he only giggled in return.

Sans sighed. “Man, Undyne, you really gotta be more careful when you’re going through Hotland, you know? You’re _hot-headed_ enough as it is.” He chuckled, and Asgore joined him, amused by his pun.

“ _Har har_ ,” Undyne droned, not quite as entertained. “So come on, what happened?”

The skeleton child rubbed the back of his skull with a bony hand. The glimmer in his eye was temporarily gone, replaced with guilt. “Ahh… You know Paps. He’s so good at everythin’, I can’t even beat him at the games we play. He’s getting especially good at hide n' go seek. _Too_ good, maybe. He hid so well I couldn't find him."

“Oh crap!” Undyne explained. “What did you do? Where was he?”

“Man I was lookin’ everywhere,” Sans said, putting his hands in his hoodie pocket. “All his favourite spots: the forest, the cliffs, his closet. Nothin’. He totally had me beat!” He nodded at Asgore, smiling again. “Luckily Mr Fluffybuns here happened to be passin’ by. He found Paps out in the snow lookin’ for me.”

Asgore smiled wide, warmed by the tale. “How is he? He was chilled _to the bone_ when I found him. Has he warmed up now?”

This got a laugh out of the skeletal teen. “Yep! He’s curled up in front of the fire, fast asleep. Don’t worry, skeletons aren’t affected too badly by the cold here. It goes right through us.”

Asgore stifled a giggle. “I am glad to hear that! Please tell your brother that Mr Fluffybuns said hello.”

“Wait a minute,” Undyne interrupted. “What’s with the nickname? What the heck does Fluffybuns mean?”

Sans and Asgore grinned, chuckling at their own in-joke.

“Ah, you see, when I first met young Papyrus, I was afraid I might startle him if I told him I was a human,” Asgore explained. “So I told him a white lie and said I was a rare type of monster. He agreed, saying “I thought so! You are far too fluffy to be a human!” He was talking about my beard; so I ran with it and called myself a fluffybun.”

“And I’m never going to let him live it down,” Sans said with a smug grin.

The merriment shared between Sans and Asgore didn’t affect Undyne. She was giving Asgore that look again, like he was the only kid in math class who didn't understand how division worked.

“So you saved Papyrus’ life?” she said.

Asgore, unsure of what she was getting at, stammered his response. “A-ah, I-I’m not sure if it was quite so dramatic a situation, b-but I did help him return home.”

"And you didn't think to tell Gaster about this?" Undyne pressed, frowning at him.

Asgore blinked. "Wh-what's that got to do with anything?"

"What about my dad?" asked Sans.

Asgore’s eyes bulged. "Your dad?"

"Glad to see you've caught up, genius," Undyne grumbled. "Yeah, Sans and Papyrus are Gaster’s kids. And he’s super protective of them. If you told him you'd helped his kids, then he might not have tried to kill you so hard."

Now it was Sans’ turn to be shocked. His eyesockets went wide, something like magic sparking within his pupils. “Dad found you?” he asked, sounding breathless.

“Yes,” Asgore said, quick to reassure the poor boy, “but I promise you it’s nothing to worry about-”  
Undyne wasn’t about to let him get away with that. “Dude he brought down the connecting tunnel between Waterfall and Hotland trying to catch you! He almost blasted a hole right through you!”

“Aw jeez,” Sans groaned, slapping a hand on his face. “I shoulda known he’d be on your tail. I’m real sorry, Gorey, dad’s seriously adamant about catchin’ humans. It’s nothin’ personal, you know? Orders straight from the Queen herself. I’ve tried to get him to calm down a little but he’s pretty _hard-headed_.”

The pun earned a hint of a smile from Asgore, but it fell just as quickly as it came. His fingers were fidgeting with one another again as a concerning thought crossed his mind.

“Sans,” he said, “may I ask… When was the last time you saw your father?”

The skeleton blinked. “Uhh, just this mornin’,” he said, shifting on the spot. “He should be coming home soon. At least, he usually comes home at around this time.”

Asgore felt his stomach twist. His brow fell low over his eyes. “I see…”

Unable to read the look on the human’s face, Undyne and Sans exchanged confused glances.

“Did you maybe wanna come inside?” Sans asked, like a peace offering, thumbing to the house's warm and inviting interior. "You can stay for a cup of tea if you want."  
That proposal almost swayed him. Oh he did fancy a nice cup of tea.

"Your offer is very kind, but no," Asgore said, staying strong. “I’ve done what I set out to do, and that was make sure miss Undyne here reached her destination safely.” He playfully patted her head, and laughed when she dodged out of the way. “I am relieved to know you are both well. But for now, I’m afraid I must be on my way.”

“Well, all right,” Sans said as Undyne joined him in the doorway. “Thanks again for your help, Fluffybuns. Next time I won’t be such a _numbskull_ and lose sight of my lil’ bro.”

Undyne crossed her arms, frowning and pouting in that adorable way she did when she was trying not to show that she cared. “Try not to get yourself exploded this time, okay?”

Asgore chuckled. “I won’t.” He took a step back, waving to them as he departed. “I am glad you are both well. Take care, children.”

The last he saw of Sans and Undyne before he turned away was their smiling faces, their little hands waving, silhouetted by the warm glow of the fire. In that moment, Asgore wondered why and how the human brain would decide that an event it witnessed was worth committing to memory. What would it take for him to convince his brain to remember this image, that it was something he would want to recall later on when he was feeling cold, for this happy memory would surely warm him to his very core.

The door closed behind them. The inviting orange glow faded to blue and white, and a chill wind blew.

He left without taking a second glance. There was another skeleton lost in the snow, and Asgore was determined to find him and bring him home.

 

———

 

Night was falling, and Snowdin’s weather was worsening.

A sharp, powerful wind was blowing across the river, carrying with it a near blinding fog. The chill breeze wrapped its icy silk around Asgore’s wrists, blowing through his hands and carding through his hair. It turned the sweat on his brow cold, and his breaths became dry. The air, with claws like icicles, scratches over his neck and sent a chill raking down his spine. Holding himself, he pressed on toward Waterfall, to its closer atmosphere and heavier humidity.

He had to be there. Surely. No one could survive in this weather, not even skeletons.

If that was indeed what kind of monster Gaster was. Asgore still wasn’t sure.

But the shift in temperature never came. The air was biting, thick with teeth and claws and menace.

Was he out there somewhere?

Undyne had said that all monsters were peaceful and pacifistic. Asgore had sensed the reluctance in Gaster’s attacks. He was going against his very nature to defeat the human threat.

Why would he go that far?

Asgore stopped walking. He had to. His vision had blurred. The world was tilted at an angle. He couldn't balance himself.

He could only focus on his quickened pulse, and attempt to calm his breathing.

_Keep going. Keep going._

_For him._

 

 

 

 

He felt his presence before he saw him. Eyelids heavy, his movements sluggish, Asgore shuffled to a halt. A shadow stood before him, blocking his path into Waterfall.

He deeply wished that the circumstances of their meeting could have been different.

 

 


	6. Winter's Debilitating Grip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'w'/;;; H... Hellooooo;;; I'm baaaaack;;;

Gaster had come for him.

The fog parted enough that Asgore could clearly see the man blocking his path. The monster stood before him, shoulders squared and fists clenched. However, his demeanor lacked the resolve he had expressed earlier. Looking at him now, Asgore wondered if he had ever had the conviction to kill him.

Gaster stepped forward. Before he could get any closer, Asgore raised his hands high, displaying his palms in a bold request for peace. The monster halted. Biting winds cut through Asgore’s hands and they ached with the cold. He held them resolutely in place, refusing to allow them to tremble.

“Gaster,” he said, “I don’t know what more I have to do to make this clear to you, but I will say it again anyway: I do not want to fight you.”

Gaster held his gaze. He didn’t speak.

Asgore swallowed and tried again. “I understand why you're doing this. Really, I do! You are under orders, yes? From the Queen, no less. You fight for a noble cause, and for that, you have my respect.” He bit down on his lip to stop himself from talking, realizing he was laying it on rather thick. “But please, doctor, all I ask is for you to listen to me, just one time.”

The doctor quirked a brow. “Is that a last request?”

Asgore glanced to the side, awkward. “… If I say yes, will you hear me out?”

Magic sizzled in Gaster’s open palm. “Whatever you choose to do with your final moments is no concern of mine,” he said, voice colder than Snowdin’s frigid air. “Just make it quick. You've wasted enough of my time.”

Asgore chose to see Gaster’s order as a merciful gesture. After all, if he was truly cruel, he would just smite him down right there and then, last requests be damned. Right?

It was a slim sliver of hope but Asgore grasped it nonetheless.

“Mr Gaster, please. I don’t mean to be in your way, but… I can’t let you kill me just yet. You see, I met two monsters yesterday. Little brothers - skeletons, I think they were. I know it’s a silly thing to ask, but Christmas is coming up - I think? - and I would like to bring them a present.”

This was a white lie. Though he hadn't made the promise to them out loud,he had every intention of surprising them both with Christmas presents. Something far better than broken toy cars salvaged from the dump, too. It was a small thing, but he didn't want to miss the chance of thanking the boys for their help and their company. They had done so much to lift his spirits. It was the least he could do in return.

“I realize this must sound quite silly! Asking for one day more of life so I might bring two skeleton boys some presents, haha! … In fact it must sound utterly ridiculous b-but hear me out-”

“Skeletons.”

The word was breathless. A hesitant statement filled with dread. When Asgore looked to Gaster, he saw wide eyes staring back at him, like tiny white lights lost in pools of darkness.

He didn't think himself capable of striking fear into the doctor, and so couldn't understand what he saw.

“Ah- yes?” he stammered. “Actually, Undyne told me they are your-”

“Where did you meet a pair of skeleton brothers?” His voice trembled with warning, like stalactites ready to snap and fall.

Asgore shuddered. “Y-yesterday. In Snowdin town- they were lost, I helped them to find each other-”

"What did you do." It was as if Gaster hadn't heard him at all. His fear was quickly building, approaching hysteria. "What did you do to them? I swear on my life, human, if you hurt them I will kill you where you stand-!"

“ _Hurt_ them?” Asgore blanched at the accusation. “Goodness, _no_ , I wouldn’t dream-!”

_“What did you do?!”_

Gaster’s magic flared. It cut through the frosted air, parting it like blades through skin, turning the falling snow to steam before it could hit the ground. It crackled and sparked with such ferocity that Asgore flinched; he knew now exactly how much damage the doctor’s power could inflict, and he wasn’t about to test his luck with it again. He lifted his arms to guard his face. A shame, he thought, that Undyne’s efforts to heal him would be undone so quickly.

Or perhaps not. He hadn’t been struck. The magic wasn’t cast as a focused attack. There was no plan, no destination for the magic to reach. It had been an accident. It was a flare, unexpected and unplanned, controlled not by Gaster’s sharp mind, but by his burst of emotion. Asgore hadn’t known until then that there could be a connection between the two. But the look on Gaster’s face made it unmistakably clear.

He was shaking. Genuinely shaking, and not from the cold. His breathing was fast and shallow, teeth clenched and chattering. His little white lights, almost snuffed out entirely, were set in wide, fearful eyes. And beyond the fear (which Asgore saw, and recognized, because he knew it well), grief was welling up, threatening to break what strength the doctor had mustered.

Undyne’s plan for Asgore to tell Gaster that he had been looking after his sons had not gone the way she thought it would.

“We… played catch,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “We made snowmen. Gaster, they’re safe. They’re safe in their home, with Undyne, I—”

“Oh, stop it!” Gaster snapped, his calm demeanor destroyed. “Stop it, just- drop the act already! It’s sick! You put up this sweet and saccharine front to make monsters trust you, and kill them when their backs are turned - you twisted bastard!”

Gaster’s sudden change of topic left Asgore taken aback. “Wha-?”

A magic finger and Gaster’s vicious glare pointed at him. “I see through you. From the moment I met you I saw not what you pretended to be, but what you really were.” He spat the words like venom from his tongue. “Monster killer!”

Asgore had no response for this, nothing he could say to defend himself. He could only shake his head slowly, flabbergasted.

“Why?” he asked. “I still don’t understand, why do you think I would hurt your kind-?”

 _“Humans kill monsters.”_ Gaster’s voice was powerful, resounding with a strength Asgore could have sworn he felt in the very air. “That is the law of this world that can never be broken. Your methods may vary but you all work toward the same goal—” And the power was gone as quickly as it had came, as Gaster swallowed, brow creasing, that vulnerability in his eyes rising once again to the surface. “Even children… Even a _child_ , who doesn’t know any better — _vile_ creatures, all of you—!”

“No!” he couldn’t say it fast enough. “You have it wrong— Mr Gaster, _please_ , I…” He took a shaky breath. “I would never hurt a child. I would never hurt _anyone._ ”

He sighed, dismayed by his own words. What good were they if they couldn’t even convince Asgore, let alone Gaster?

“I know,” he said, voice a rasping whisper. “I _know_ it must seem strange: a grown man playing with a child that is not his own. It’s… a disturbing sight to any parent. I should have thought of that but I didn’t and I am sorry. I just… I just wanted to _thank_ them. I-I’ve been alone, and I am a stranger to the Underground; I was lost, and they didn’t have to help me but they did— Brilliant boys, both of them; they must make you so proud. Sans has your sharp mind—”

There was a flash of cyan. It came and went so suddenly, Asgore lost his train of thought and fell into silence. Then there was pain, and red, blossoming across his right shoulder. Scattered blonde hairs fluttered through the air. Gaster had cut open his trapezius and clavicle before he even realized it.

Gaster had grasped the vulnerability in his eyes and shut it away, somewhere deep down inside himself. He didn’t need it now. All he needed was the determination that burned in his furious stare, glowing with a searing brightness matched only by his intense magic.

Asgore opened his mouth to shout, to cry out to the doctor to stop, to beg him to listen. The monster’s magic was upon him before he could even draw breath.

\----—

It didn’t take long.

Gaster was a powerful monster. Asgore was without weapons, and the injury in his shoulder had rendered that arm useless, leaving him with very few ways to defend himself. Most crucial of all, he was lacking in the one thing that might have saved him: a will to fight.

The doctor’s relentless flurry of attacks left him little time to formulate a plan (and Asgore had never been a fast thinker); injuries had opened and stained his clothes with blood before the pain had even registered; by the time Asgore had raised a hand to deflect an attack he was already reeling from the blow, and Gaster was preparing his next strike.

Asgore slipped on bloody sleet. His balance lost, arms akimbo, his chest was left wide open to a punch from Gaster’s magic fists. He went down hard. And he stayed down.

Well there was no point in getting up, was there? He didn’t stand an Undyne’s chance in Hotland in this fight. And down here on the floor, laid on his side watching the languid waters trickle by, he had some time to think.

The Underground’s greatest gift to him had been its peace and its calm, all the tranquil time it gave him just to lie back and think. Even as the snow beneath him grew saturated with his blood, he felt grateful that he had been given this moment to rest. So he pondered, mulling over the same topic that had often gone through his mind while he rested in Waterfall:

He would count the things he had left to live for.

Asriel. That was always, without fail, the first word to come to mind. Asriel. Asriel. Always, for Asriel.

Second: to live for the hope that he may one day make amends with his ex-wife. They might not ever get back together, but it would be nice to at least be friends again. Ah, but that was only wishful thinking. That ship had sailed long ago. He had as much hope of winning her back as he did of winning this fight. Time to finally scratch that one off the list. Except he never would.

Third - and what a joy this was, to have attained a third reason to live! Christmas was coming up (or the monster equivalent of Christmas) and he was already planning the gifts he would give to Sans, Papyrus and Undyne. The Underground was rife with resources he could work with; the trees of Snowdin looked particularly well-suited for carving wooden toys. How wonderful it would be. How excited he was to do this again, just one last time.

Back on the surface, he had worked for a while as a mall Santa. Oh, how he loved his job, the smiles on the children’s faces, the incomparable feeling of brightening someone’s day. It had given him joy when he had none. He wasn’t supposed to hand out the wood-carved toys he made at home for free to the boys and girls he met, but he couldn’t help it. Why was it wrong to try to make a child happy?

Alas, his employers would not be convinced. When they learned of what awful fate had befallen his son, Asgore was deemed surplus to requirement and fired without warning.

Asgore thought there weren’t enough good deeds in the world that would ever counterbalance the weight of his sins. He wished he could try anyway. He would live out the rest of his days trying, if he could.

But as it was, the flashing blue magic was getting awfully close.

How inviting they seemed now. Those hands. How warm. Perhaps they might carry him off, cradling him as he slipped away. Wishful thinking. That wouldn’t happen, and really, he was fine with that. He didn’t deserve such a peaceful end anyway.

He let his eyes slip closed. Before he entered the darkness, however, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Gaster’s face. _What a shame_ , he thought, _that he would look so miserable_.

It only made sense, he supposed. Asgore had that affect on people, and in Gaster’s case, his misery could only be subsided if Asgore were to die. That gave him some solace in his final moments.

Still… Still. He couldn’t help it. It was in his nature. He wished he could have done something for Gaster, that he could have spread just a little more joy before he died.

He would have made that task his fourth reason to live.

\------

This had not been part of Gaster's predictions.

His plan of attack had been perfect. It allowed no room for error. Disregarding unexpected variables such as the Temmies, Undyne's interference, and the human's multiple successful escape attempts, his strategies were flawless! The result of this battle had proved them so.

And yet, this very predictable aftermath felt… wrong, somehow. Incomplete.

The thought nagged at Gaster, and he hated it. This extraneous, unnecessary information - was this not the culmination of his efforts, a plan executed perfectly? At last, the human was on his knees, defeated, before him. Crushed, broken, his soul hanging on by a hair's breadth, he lay face down in the snow, unmoving.

Unmoving.

The relentless winds whipped Gaster's cloak around his legs. The falling snow collected on his shoulders.

He swallowed.

He should check to make sure if the human was dead, he told himself. He shouldn't run the risk of destroying its body.

"H- Hey," he called out, inwardly chiding himself for stammering as he awaited the human's response.

Unmoving.

Gaster felt a wave of nausea. His stomach tensed.

"Hey! What are you doing?" he tried again with more bite in his voice. "Get up!"

Pushed by the wind, Asgore's hair fell across his face, like a gentle hand closing his eyes.

"You still have one HP left! I can see it! You can't trick me, human!"

Silence. Even the wind was still. The snow was turning red.

He was dying. His soul would soon leave his body.

He was dying.

This was it. His plans were coming to fruition. The long-awaited conclusion to years of labor, of training and developing his magic weapons, of attempting to surpress his empathy so he wouldn’t suffer when he took his first life - all of it.

All of it ended with the beaten bloody body of a miserable and lonely man dying in the snow.

And Gaster felt his panic rise.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as the weight of what he had done weighed on his back. A hand went to his mouth. He couldn't breathe. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. So much for trying not to feel empathy - what a pointless exercise that had been. He was a monster for goodness’ sake, he was made of magic, every atom of him constructed of positive energies. Monsters could not kill without remorse. It was one of the unbreakable laws of this world.

His remorse was superfluous in the grand scheme of things. It was not a means that would help the Queen to achieve her end. But his magic, poised and ready above Asgore’s body, could do what they once thought impossible.

His remorse would not claim the seven souls.

One more strike. One more strike was all it would take, and the human's soul would leave his body. Then Gaster would claim it, contain it, safely store it in the lower levels of his lab, report his success to the Queen, and it would be over. One more strike, with the intent to kill-

And that is where Gaster's plan failed.

Even as he stood over the human's unmoving body, magic primed and aimed squarely at his target's chest, no amount of inner dialogue could convince him to move.

Asgore had brought this upon himself. It was his fault for coming here; he should have known better. A human in monster territory was as good as dead! Monsterkind needed him to die! It was just! It was right!

There was a sound. Faint as a heartbeat, carried by the winds, catching in the snow.

The human. He was breathing.

He was alive.

He could still be...

Gaster couldn’t move. He had given all he had, fought with all the strength he could muster. He could only hold back his true nature for so long. He was made of the stuff, after all.

Pathetic. Months of training, and this was all the Fight he had to give.

With trembling hands, Gaster made his final choice, to end the battle. His throat was dry, his eyes were stinging, his body was shaking, his thoughts had stopped and all he knew in that moment was-

He doesn't deserve to die.

Gaster lightly touched his fingertips to Asgore's shoulder, closed his eyes, and in a flash of blue light, they were gone.


	7. Progression of Personal Insecurities

They reappeared in Gaster’s living room. His magic lowered Asgore’s unconscious body onto the couch, but he had teleported just a few inches away from the spot he’d had in mind, and his magic almost missed the couch completely. He caught Asgore before he could hit the floor and hefted him up to lay in a comfortable position. His arm laid by his side, unmoving.

The only sound in the room was Gaster’s heavy breathing.

He was near death. The lacerations in his skin were deep. Gaster knew that for a fact. He’d carved them after all. Asgore had already lost a lot of blood, and Snowdin’s sheer cold had likely worsened his condition. He would die if Gaster didn’t do something. He ran through his options. Healing magic wasn’t an option because he didn’t know any; humans on the surface typically relied on establishments called hospitals for their health care, but thanks to the existence of healing magic, monsters had no such thing. Like hell he’d find a monster who knew how to operate on humans anyway, and Asgore was still bleeding and it was getting worse and it was staining his couch and Gaster didn’t have any Soul containers in his house so if Asgore died here he couldn’t capture the Soul and the human would die for absolutely no reason _what do I do_ —

A sudden sound: a wooden object clattering against tile. Gaster started and whirled around, looking for the source of the noise, coming from the kitchen—

And he saw three spaghetti-spattered children staring back at him.

It was only then that Gaster noticed the air was thick with the smell of several failed attempts to cook. Sans and Papyrus, his darling sons, backlit by the kitchen light, were staring back at him. Those big, trusting, innocent eyes, curious to see what their father had brought home. A meatball fell from Undyne's spatula, breaking the silence as it hit the kitchen floor with a splat.

Papyrus' cooking lesson. Oh bloody hell, he'd completely forgotten.

"Dad?" asked his eldest.

"Nothing!" Gaster said, far too loud, summoning his magic hands to not-so-discreetly yank a curtain off the rails and drape it over Asgore.

“Is that Fluffybuns?” asked his youngest, talking around a mouthful of spaghetti.

“No!” he said, but what was the point in lying? “Yes! He’s- He’s sleeping! And don’t talk with your mouth full!”

“Is that his blood?” Undyne said, pointing not at Asgore, but at him.

Gaster frowned, perplexed. Following the direction of her pointed finger, he looked down at himself. And discovered the blood spattering his cloak and shirt.

He felt physically ill.

Swallowing bile, he collected what remained of his nerves.

“Sans, take Papyrus upstairs,” he said.

“Dad, y-you didn’t—”

“Now!”

It wasn’t often that Gaster would raise his voice to his kids, and it was never something he enjoyed. He disliked the surprised look in his sons’ eyes even more.

“Okay,” Sans said, not one to argue. “C’mon, Paps. Bedtime.”

He took his little brother by the hand, and together they solemnly waved goodbye to Undyne. With guilt already gathering in the pit of his stomach, Gaster watched Sans bundle his little brother up in his arms and teleport up to their room. He made a mental note to apologize to his boys, and to thank Sans for choosing to teleport instead of walk. He had spared Papyrus a glimpse of the gory sight lying beneath the curtain.

Relieved, Gaster let his taught shoulders relax. That left just one.

She did not look happy.

Gaster sighed. “I suppose if I were to politely ask you to go home, you wouldn't be interested in listening to me, would you?”

“What the hell did you do?”

“No, of course not,” Gaster said, running a tired hand over his skull. “Okay, I know how this looks. I was going to kill him, really- I mean, I very nearly did, still could, he's bleeding enough-”

“He's alive?!” Undyne gasped.

Gaster winced, bracing against Undyne’s accusation like a disobedient student would brace against their teacher’s chiding. “I know! I know, I didn't finish the job, but I will!” He gestured aimlessly, as though trying to pull an excuse out of the air. “I just thought that I shouldn't do it out in the open, where anyone could see?”

“Get out of my way!”

Uninterested in his blatant lies, Undyne stormed past him, making straight for the unconscious human. With webbed hands balled into fists, she tore back the curtain. She balked at the sight of Asgore’s grievous injuries, hands gripping her hair as she let out an angered growl.

“Nggaaahh you idiot!” she snapped, rounding on Gaster. “Look what you've done! He's a mess! You're lucky you didn't kill him - you went way too far! What the hell did he do to piss you off so bad? He's harmless, you jerk!”

Gaster quirked a brow. This wasn't the Undyne he'd met at the outskirts of Waterfall just hours ago.

“Well you certainly changed your tune,” he said. “Have you already given up on your dreams of waging war against the humans? Or were his valiant efforts to revive you from heatstroke all it took to change your opinion of him and his kind?”

“He's not evil like the others!” she retorted, more vehemently than Gaster was prepared for. “I thought even you would be able to see that! He saved me, he saved Papyrus - and I’ll bet he didn't attack you even once, right? All that blood on you, none of it is yours, is it?”

She pointed an accusative finger at him, and Gaster felt truly caught redhanded. The aftertaste of his bitter words made him feel nauseated, sickened by his insensitivity. Talking with his characteristic sarcasm gave him a much needed feeling of normalcy, but he had chosen his timing poorly. Even worse, the target he had chosen to direct his ire toward was only a child. A child who possessed better sense than he did. Rooted to the spot by shame and embarrassment, he couldn't hold her gaze.

“I realised that,” he said.

“Yeah, well, it would have been nice if you'd figured it out before you put a bunch of holes in him.”

Without another word, she turned her back to Asgore, raised her splayed palms and summoned her healing magic. Red blood faded from Gaster’s view, cleansed by green light. He watched her work, noticing how Undyne had to expend a greater deal of time on each laceration than was usual for her; the wounds were vicious and complicated, and required much of her magic to mend.

Gaster shifted, swallowing, chewing on his bottom lip. He tried to regulate his shallow breathing.

“Is,” he stammered. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Bandages,” she said, not turning away. Her voice was strained. “Every one ya got. He's a big guy.”

“Right.”

He went immediately to the kitchen, to the counter, opened the drawer where he knew he kept the first aid kit. It took some effort to remove it; the bulky box was jammed inside the drawer, and Gaster had to shimmy it out bit by bit. He chided himself for not settling for buying a smaller box. It was a testament to what a fussy father he was, but he was going to have to admit someday that skeletons didn’t need antihistamines.

Grabbing a fistful of bandages and band-aids (of which he also had a surplus), he swiftly delivered them to Undyne.

“We have disinfectants as well, if you need them,” he offered.

“Already done.” She kept her sentences short, reserving her energy and channeling it all into healing the human. Her arms were trembling now. “Two more.”

Two more injuries to go. The blood flow had been stemmed, the deepest of the lacerations cauterized. However, colour was yet to return to Asgore’s deathly pale skin. His remaining injuries were minor, nothing that couldn’t be patched up with bandages and time, yet still Undyne persevered, ignoring the rivulets of sweat running from her forehead.

Undyne possessed a remarkable resolve, especially for a monster of such a young age. Gaster had always admired her for that, and was grateful to her for passing on that determination to his Papyrus. He showed his gratitude in little ways: packing his sons an extra lunch to share with her, allowing her to sleep over, permitting her to conduct cooking lessons in his kitchen and not complaining when he had to clean up the majority of the mess. She wasn’t his child, but his fatherly habits died hard, especially in the presence of the orphan Undyne.

Yet today, he had neglected her safety on multiple occasions. The memory of her lying unconscious on the scorching Hotland stone turned his stomach; the memory of how he had left her there, confounded that Asgore had been the one to save her and not him, threatened to bring tears to his eyes. He couldn’t in good conscience allow her to continue putting her life in danger.

“Undyne, it’s all right,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You've done enough. You've saved him. Please, go home and rest. You'll exhaust yourself.”

She had to take a few deep breaths before she could speak. “Just one more.”

“I can take care of it.” He placed a calming hand on her head. “Please, Undyne, you’ve done more than enough.” He grimaced. “None of this was your fault. I should be the one…”

He trailed off, but he needn’t have finished. She understood. Once she was sure the bleeding had stopped, Undyne at last lowered her arms and ceased her magic.

The exhaustion caught up with her fast. Just moments ago she had stood rooted to the ground, her body steeled by determination, solid as a rock. Now she wilted so quickly Gaster reached out on instinct to catch her. She didn’t fall, but the hand she used to bat his concern away couldn’t have swatted a fly.

“You better not let him die,” she said. Though her eyes were half-lidded, they hadn’t lost their spark. “If you do, I'll beat you up.”

Gaster nodded. He would have let her, too. “I know.”

“I'll beat you up so bad Papyrus will never forgive me.”

“I know. Go home, Undyne.”

Blinking slowly, she wandered unsteadily to the door, dragging her feet as she went.

“Go straight to bed when you get home,” Gaster said.

“You’re not my dad,” she retorted, but the words didn’t hold the venom most might have thought they did. This was an in-joke between them, an empty insult she would throw at him when he let his fatherly instincts slip.

Thank the stars that’s true, Gaster thought. You deserve better.

He waited until the door was closed. He waited for the quiet. For when he would be left alone in the living room with a dying human and all his crushing guilt.

The front door clicked shut.

With a gasp Gaster tore the blanket off. A string of blood went with it.

He was bleeding still. His arms laid uselessly by his side. Unmoving. Unmoving.

Gaster couldn't breathe.

Undyne had done all she could, and she had done a phenomenal job, that little magic genius. Though most of Asgore’s injuries avoided vital organs (Gaster knew that for certain), many of the cuts were deep and dangerously close to major arteries: a complicated job for any healer. The human would wake up eventually, and he would move, and he would inevitably tear his wounds open. Despite Undyne’s impeccable work, the wounds were to grievous to go untreated. They would need stitching.

Perhaps Gaster shouldn’t have been so hard on himself for being a fussy father after all. The antihistamines were obviously useless, but his suture kit was not.

He summoned his magic to aid him. He wouldn’t rely on his own shaking hands to do the job without injuring Asgore further, but he could still concentrate well enough to keep his magical hands steady.

It was only when his magic was poised at Asgore’s skin, needle and medical thread at the ready, when he remembered he had never sewn a wound before. He’d read about it, to prepare himself for the hypothetical event when he would need to apply the knowledge, but the opportunity to practice had never arisen. He hoped this wouldn’t be much different from sewing up holes in Papyrus’ clothes.

Only when he applied the last band-aid did he finally calm. Practice had taught him how to apply them with just the right amount of pressure: firm enough to make it stick, careful enough to not cause pain. He traced its colourful patterns with trembling thumbs: cartoon bones on a cheerful blue. They were children's band-aids, hardly fit for a fully grown man. Still, Gaster was sure the human would like them anyway, and would say so, when he woke up.

If he woke up.

Silence fell. The room felt oddly inert, motionless. The only sign that time was still passing was the shallow rising and falling of Asgore's chest. Gaster remained sat on the floor, watching him breathe, much like how his children would watch the snowfall, afraid that if they were to turn away, it would stop.

His vision blurred. He blinked. It blurred again. He frowned. He was wearing his glasses, why was this happening?

Exhausted, he laid his head on the armrest and silently wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPINESS WILL HAPPEN IN THE NEXT CHAPTER I PROMISE


	8. Distant Light, Distant Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enough angst! It's time for PAMCAKES!

“Dawn” came. The closest thing monsterkind had to a sunrise were electric lanterns that would switch on at the same time every day, and of course those lovely ceiling stars. Asgore had watched them stirring into life in the early hours of the morning as he awoke in Waterfall. As he watched them now through the window as he gradually came to.

A window. He noticed now how peculiar that was. Why was he looking through a window? Whose was it? And why was it missing a curtain?

A shot of pain up his side interrupted his attempt to sit up. He gingerly lowered himself back down with a groan, noting the pillow beneath his head and the arm rest propping his legs up. A couch then. As his surroundings took shape in his reluctantly waking mind, he only became more confused. When was the last time he had laid down on a couch?

At home. Was this home?

He cracked his groggy eyes open, eyelids so heavy he thought for a moment they might be weighed down. He saw a carpet, a television set, and through the blurry veil of his long-sightedness, a kitchen. It was _a_ home, yes. But not his.

Still, it didn't feel entirely foreign. Somewhere in the patchwork of his half-lucid thoughts, he stitched together a vague memory of a young skeleton boy stood at his front door, and the inviting homely warmth emanating from within. This carpet, these walls, that peculiar piece of bone-related artwork - Asgore had seen them all through that crack in the door.

As recognition set in, lucidity was soon to follow. A clatter from the kitchen made him jump, and he at last noticed the figure standing by the stove.

Gaster looked nothing like the reaper of death he had first appeared to be in Waterfall. Without the dramatic jacket billowing behind him, he looked smaller, and a lot thinner. Dressed down in a pair of jeans and a comfy turtleneck, he protected his outfit from the wrath of his cooking with an adorable blue apron. Written across its front was a humorous quote: "Last time I cooked, hardly anyone got sick!"

The mismatched imagery of the human hunter placed in such a domestic setting shut down Asgore’s thought processes again. Another piece of the patchwork came together as he remembered that the skeleton boy - Sans - was this man’s son. He was a father.

And a desperately protective one. Asgore recalled Gaster’s fear-stricken face. His desperate shouts. His relentless attacks. Red on white. Cold, cold, cold-

"You haven't eaten much since you arrived in the Underground, have you?"

Asgore's ears piqued and his heart jumped. Gaster must have heard him shifting on the couch. He couldn't have seen him; his attention was entirely focused on his cooking. He lifted a frying pan and attempted to flip its contents. They barely left the surface of the pan. It was difficult to tell, but Asgore guessed Gaster was making pancakes.

"So I'm assuming anyway," Gaster said, using the spatula to scrape some burnt bits off the skillet. "Considering I found you passed out in Waterfall, I'd say I'm not far off the mark. Not much of a survivalist, I take it?"

Gaster had glanced over his shoulder to direct that last remark at Asgore, but hadn't gone so far as to make eye contact with him. The pancakes coughed out a puff of smoke.

Asgore relaxed as apprehension drained from him. This wasn't the man he'd fought in the snow, nor the man he'd ran screaming from in Waterfall. This was the Gaster he'd tried to keep hidden behind his human hunter alter ego. His hesitation, his protectiveness, his fears: like cracks breaking through a shattering mask, he had given up on his resolve to kill the fallen human. He'd let the charade go, and this is what was left:

An awkward, dorky dad with a serious neurotic streak and zero cooking ability.

Asgore felt himself smile.

"And I take it you're not much of a cook?" he said.

Gaster balked, but the comment was enough to make him look over at his human guest, though he stood straight-backed and gripping his spatula with vengeance. He fixed Asgore with an affronted glare, but Gaster's attempts to save face were having little effect on him at this point.

"Yes, well, in this house, I'm the best you've got," he snapped, wiping his hands on his already messy apron. "You had better like pancakes, because that's all you're getting."

By which he meant that was all he could cook. Asgore stifled another chuckle.

"Pancakes are my favourite, actually."

He watched Gaster try to process that information. He had stopped mid-pour, and was tipping far too much mix into the pan, dooming his next pancake to failure. Asgore couldn't stop himself from quietly giggling when Gaster's eye started twitching, so affected was he by his inner conflict. He just couldn't bear to do him any favours, even accidental ones.

Did he dare? Oh, he dared.

"How sweet of you to think of me.”

Gaster snapped upright with such force he threw a dollop of mix into the air, which landed on the floor with an audible splat.

"I'm not doing this for you!" he hissed, waving the spatula at him. There went more pancake mix. "It's for my children. Pancakes are their favorite as well."

"Ah, then your boys have good taste."

"Hmph. In breakfast items, maybe. Humans, not so much."

Ouch.

"Hm, and yet, here I am, alive and well and lying on your couch," Asgore observed, drumming his fingers on his stomach. "Perhaps the apple doesn't fall so far from the tree?"

Gaster shot him a look of contempt over his shoulder. "Are you trying to vex me on purpose, human?"

"Not at all, nor have I ever meant to,” he said. Then a mischievous grin came to his lips. “Though I could be tempted. There are some benefits to getting on your nerves.”

“And what does that mean?” the skeleton growled with feigned disinterest.

“Well,” Asgore smiled, “you do look cute when you're angry.”

Gaster was mid-flip when he dropped that line. Asgore couldn't have hoped for better timing.

Distracted and disgusted, Gaster fixed Asgore with an expression as exaggerated and amusing as he had hoped he would. His eyes were wide, his speechless mouth hanging open - when the airborne pancake came back down to earth and landed right on his skull. The monster cursed, and Asgore howled with laughter.

“Oh no! I'm so sorry!” Asgore gasped, mirth in every word. “Are you all right?”

"Don't give me that!” Gaster snatched most of the cooked pancake off his head, missing a chunk caught in the frames of his glasses and the uncooked batter rolling down his forehead. “You timed that on purpose!”

“No no, it was an accident, I swear! I'm really sorry!”

“Then why are you still laughing?!”

Asgore couldn't control his giggles. “I can't help it,” he admitted. “You're really funny!”

The monster had no witty comeback for that one. He felt heat rising on his face, and it wasn't from the pancake.

“Oh- Shut up!!”

Gaster hurled his spatula at him, as if the motion would do anything to cover his bright blue face. What was worse, he wasn't much of a good throw. The spatula landed on the carpet, battered side first, with a sad plop.

It was the mortified expression on Gaster's face that broke him. A bubble of laughter burst from Asgore’s chest, true laughter that made him feel instantly better. Until a twinge in his hip disturbed one of his stitches and he doubled over in pain.

Asgore had never needed to have stitches before, and was quickly learning was an unpleasant experience it was. He felt the instinctive urge to remove whatever foreign object was causing him this much pain. He clutched his stomach, fingers clawing at his skin in lieu of ripping out the stitches, as though to compromise with his own impulses. Shoulders hunched and teeth clenched, he sat with his whole body tensed as he waited for the pain to subside.

Calming himself with a few deep breaths, and being very careful to relax his limbs only in positions where they wouldn't cause him pain, he settled back into the couch with a relieved sigh.

He opened his eyes, and there was Gaster, standing over him. His hands were outstretched, hovering uselessly, and Asgore was surprised to find they were reaching for him.

Gaster recoiled, remembering himself, all too late: he couldn't take back the concern he'd shown for the human. The two men watched each other, wordless in the charged silence.

“Are-” Gaster stammered, wincing like it physically pained him to ask. “Are you all right?”

Asgore blinked. He was having some trouble adjusting to this side of Gaster. But he was, at least, finding the monster increasingly easy to read. In their first encounter, Gaster had quite convincingly presented himself as an unfeeling killer, right down to his immutable expression: cold and stoic at all times. It must have required a considerable effort on his part to restrain his habit of wearing his expression in the middle of his face, as he was now. Brow furrowed in frustration, eyes making clear his conflicted thoughts, hands curling and uncurling in indecision.

For whatever end Gaster had sought Asgore’s death, it hadn't been enough to spur him into going through with it. Something had made him stop. Something he was struggling to come to terms with.

“Are you in pain,” Gaster said, speaking flatly to mask his concern.

“N-no,” Asgore responded reflexively, hand still nursing his wounded middle. “No I’m fine now. But you might have to stop making me laugh for a while. You had me in stitches.”

Gaster rolled his eyes. “You're not funny.”

Asgore chuckled, however weakly, mirth restrained by his injuries. He ran his fingers across the bandages. “Did you do this?”

“No,” he said. “Undyne did.”

Not for a second did he believe Gaster’s blatant lie. Undyne was a very bright child, as talented in a fight as she was in healing, but she couldn't have tied these bandages. Asgore liked to think he'd gotten to know her well enough to recognise that precision and thoroughness wasn't her style. This was a doctor’s work.

He clenched his jaw. It was a familiar feeling, knowing that the same touch that healed him had left the scar in the first place.

He lifted his shirt to properly survey the damage. The bandages reached around his middle, over his right shoulder and around his neck. The muscles in his arms ached, and he had to stop moving them each time he felt a cut threatening to open. No, he was evidently not all right, but he would live.

Thanks to him.

Asgore looked Gaster in the eyes.

"You didn't kill me,” he said. "Why?"

The monster winced. He must have seen that question coming, Asgore supposed, but now it was out in the open, and he looked ready to run from it. He sucked in a breath and forced himself to reply.

“I- I made a mistake,” he said, voice crisp. “Your soul is, um. It's- We don't need it. So for now, you get to keep it. You should be grateful.” Gaster punctuated his sentence by crossing his arms and setting his jaw. All that was missing was a pouty ‘So there!’

“I am,” Asgore said, and meant it. “But I'm not convinced.”

Gaster blinked. “What?”

But Asgore’s smile was warm, if not a bit cheeky. “You're not much of a liar, I take it?”

The monster recoiled in shock, genuinely surprised that Asgore had seen through him. Knowing he was in hot water now, he fidgeted on the spot, looking every way but at him.

“I-! I’m not- It’s not that- _Agh_ , I don’t have to explain myself to _you_ , human!”

Asgore had to pass a hand over his mouth to stifle his smile and stop himself from laughing. How Gaster looked now was strikingly similar to how he had looked at the end of their first meeting, shortly before he fled, leaving Asgore stranded by the waterfall. Flustered, pressured, embarrassed. Cute.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me!” Gaster snapped, bright blue with indignation. “I may have spared your life, _for now_ , but I can easily take it away at any moment-!”

“Yes, I don’t doubt that,” Asgore said. “You’re very strong!”

Gaster threw his head up in triumph, a haughty smirk on his face. “Hmph! Your words mean nothing. You haven’t seen even a fraction of my true capabilities-!”

“But, ahh, for future reference: I may be more inclined to fear your power if you weren’t wearing that apron.”

Gaster froze. He looked down at himself, like he’d forgotten all about the silly apron. If he was blue in the face before, he was bright cyan now.

He turned sharply on his heel and stormed off back to the kitchen.

“I should have left you out in the snow,” he grumbled, sulking.

Asgore let out another laugh, controlled this time, so as not to hurt himself. “No, no, come back! I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. You look so cute in that thing-”

“Agh- Stop that!” the monster spat, looking at Asgore with insult in his eyes. “Stop using that word!”

“Which one?” he asked, knowing damn well what he was referring to. “Oh, you mean how cute you are?”

“Yes, that!” Gaster hissed through gritted teeth, disgust written into every bright blue feature. “I tried to kill you! How can you possibly call me… _that_?!” He threw his arms up, stumped. “It’s like you don’t find me threatening at all!”

Asgore blinked, smiling innocently. “But you’re so nice. Well, this real side of you is.”

Gaster grimaced, eyebrows knotted together in confusion. “”R-real side”? What is that supposed to mean?”

Asgore’s only response was a smile. An understanding one, a look that saw right through Gaster’s flimsy facade. It didn’t take a genius to deconstruct his human hunter act, and Asgore would be the first to admit he was no genius. But what he lacked in smarts he made up for with patience and understanding in spades, and Gaster could see it in his eyes. The jig had been up for quite some time.

With a sigh, he released the tension in his shoulders.

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, padding back to the counter and throwing ingredients into a bowl to make up some more pancake batter, “that’s what happens when you send a scientist to do a knight’s job.”

“Oh yes, that's right! Undyne did mention you were a scientist.”

“Royal Scientist, actually!” Gaster said, making no attempt to mask his bitterness. “Appointed by the queen herself. Could’ve sworn I didn’t see “human hunting”, “acts of violence” and “ _murder_ ” mentioned in my original job description but, here we are!”

He threw a dollop of his newest concoction onto the pan, and it hissed with displeasure. Leaning on the counter, he left out a heavy sigh and watched the pancake as it would inevitably burn.

Asgore was still trying to take in the news.

“That’s why you came after me?” he asked. “You were sent to kill me?”

“Sad to say. But when the queen gives you orders, you can’t just say “Sorry, Torie, I’d love to fit a good ol’ murder spree into my weekend, but between all those Soul extractions and Determination experiments you asked for I just can’t find the time! Do you think I could pencil in a quick stabbing between my Tuesday morning appointment and brunch?””

He tried to laugh at his own dark humour, but the laughter quickly turned sour on his lips. Asgore figured he knew why.

“But you did,” he said, carefully. “You spared me.”

Gaster shifted, fidgeting on his feet and drumming the tabletop, plainly uncomfortable.

“Why?” Asgore pressed.

The drumming stopped. Gaster swallowed audibly.

“I…” he managed at last, choosing each word carefully, “I realized that… you are of more use to monsterkind alive than dead. If you remain alive, then I- you can be studied.” His words gained momentum as he went on. “While you remain in the Underground, I will monitor your activities and behavior. Monsters haven’t come in contact with humans in many centuries; our records on the study of human morality and culture are in dire need of an update.” He finally turned then, bolstered by his improvisation. “You shall provide the necessary data.”

Asgore sighed. He wasn’t so dim that he couldn’t tell that Gaster had made that excuse up on the spot. He was content to smile and nod; this was the best answer he was going to get, for now.

“I see. Thank you, Gaster. I understand you must be putting yourself in danger by keeping me alive, yes? If the, ah, _data_ I provide you could help to sway the queen’s opinion, then I will gladly help you.”

“Oh.” The doctor stammered, apparently unprepared for Asgore’s civil response. “Well. Good! That’s… good.”

Then the pancake burned, as he thought it might, and he cursed himself for getting distracted so easily. Asgore couldn’t stop himself from letting out another hearty laugh.

“Perhaps I could start by giving you a hand in the kitchen?” he said, doing his best to hide the strain in his voice as he rose from the couch. “You seem to be having some difficulty-”

“No, no! Sit down!” Gaster’s stern admonishment took Asgore by surprise. “You’re badly injured and still recovering - don’t get up!”

But Asgore was a typically stubborn old man; he was already on his feet and slowly making his way to the kitchen, waving off Gaster’s concerns. “Nonsense, I’m all right. You did a great job with these bandages.”

“Not good enough if you hurt yourself just by laughing too hard.”

“That’s not for you to worry about. You can’t help that you make me laugh.”

For just a moment, Asgore saw the iciness in Gaster’s glare subside, giving way to pleasant surprise. He turned away before Asgore could make comment, frowning hard as though it would hide the blue dusting his cheeks. Perhaps the doctor liked being complimented for his sense of humor, Asgore wondered. He made a mental note to test that theory later.

“Besides, stretching my legs will be good for me.”

“Fine, if you insist,” the monster huffed, not putting up much of a fight. “Making pancakes isn’t exactly a two person job though.”

“No, but I may be able to give you a few pointers.”

“Like some sort of back-seat cook?”

“Like someone who has evidently had more practice in the kitchen than you have,” Asgore chuckled.

The doctor looked positively affronted.

“Oh! Oh! I see how it is! I rough you up a little bit and you think that gives you cause to criticise me, do you?”

Asgore had to fight to keep himself from grinning too wide at Gaster’s sarcastic yet openly self-aware comment.

“You did more than just ‘rough me up’!” he said, looking into the mixing bowl to investigate where Gaster had gone wrong with the pancake mix. “Ooff, but you did an even worse number on this pancake mix, frankly.”

Gaster put his batter-spattered hands on his hips. “Oh like you're such a pancake connoisseur. How can you even tell how good it is just by looking?”

“It has lumps in it!”

“Those aren’t lumps! They're-!” He gestured, searching for the words. “Pockets of flavour!”

That got a laugh out of Asgore. “You haven't mixed this correctly-”

“How dare you. I'll have you know this recipe has been passed down the Gaster family line for generations. These are the pancakes my mother used to make for me!”

“If that's true then I fear for your health!”

“The gall! You come into my house-”

“You dragged me here!”

“ _Teleported_! I _teleported_ you here! There's a difference!”

Asgore broke, leaning away as he burst into laughter. Somewhere, beneath the raucous rumbles of his own mirth, he heard Gaster chuckle.

He turned to look at him, eyes and grin wide in disbelief, to confirm what he'd heard. But the doctor had already recovered, standing straight and frowning with one fist to his mouth as he cleared his throat.

“F-fine then,” he barked, still avoiding eye contact. “If you insist that your knowledge of the breakfast-based culinary arts far exceed my own then go right ahead! Prove it.”

Asgore grabbed the spatula and rose to the challenge. “Gladly. I could use a _decent_ meal.”

“Oh you are on thin ice.”

Chuckling, he set about the complicated task of fixing the deadly concoction Gaster had cobbled together. From what Asgore could tell, the mixture was comprised of flour, eggs, frustration, “flavour pockets” and ineptitude.

“Look at this mess, you've used far too much flour!” he teased, throwing a few dashes of milk into the bowl. He'd made enough pancake batter in his time to be able to tell by eye when the mix had just the right consistency. Taking up a nearby whisk, he held the bowl at a slight angle, and beat the pooling mix with a strong arm. “The batter shouldn't be so flat either; the best pancakes are fluffy and soft. You have to beat some air into them.”

He whisked until bubbles had risen visibly to the batter’s surface. Satisfied, he tapped the whisk on the rim of the bowl and looked to Gaster for his approval.

“You see-?”

He stopped short, surprised. Gaster _did_ see. Actually he was enraptured, watching with one hand over his mouth, fascinated gaze fixated on the bowl. Asgore wondered what might be going on in that scientist’s brain of his; he was staring so intently at the batter he may well have been analysing how the ingredients combined at the molecular level. But I'm typical Gaster fashion, he scurried to hide his genuine self the moment he noticed Asgore had caught sight of it.

“Yes, well!” he said, folding his arms. “I could have figured that out myself.”

Asgore felt a dull ache forming in his cheeks, one that wasn't caused by his injuries. How long had it been since he'd last smiled until it ached?

“Of course you could.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“Perish the thought. Now come here, I'll show you how to cook them properly, so they don't end up on the ceiling.”

“I'll throw _you_ onto the ceiling…”

“Of course you will. Now watch carefully.”

Somewhere in the midst of cooking, Asgore allowed his thoughts to wander.

It made sense now. A scientist sent to do a knight’s job, as Gaster had described it. How had that come to pass? Why would the Queen demand Gaster commit acts that were so far out of his station? His magical strength was an obvious factor; it was far beyond what Asgore would expect a monster in a non-combatant position to possess. Not that he was one to draw conclusions, what with his limited knowledge of monsterkind and how their underground society functioned. He had no idea how Gaster had ended up in this position. But he understood now why he had pursued him with such fervour, only to fall apart and back out when the critical moment came.

The image of Gaster, the self-proclaimed human hunter, standing over his beaten body, little more than a silhouette against the vicious blaze of his magic, returned to the forefront of Asgore’s mind. He remembered the pain, the stench of burning flesh, the horrible bone-rattling sound of the monster’s terrible magic. And Gaster’s face frozen in hesitation. His eyes, desperate.

When the time had come to choose between following his Queen’s orders or possible treason, he had chosen to stand by his own morals. That took a great amount of strength.

As he watched the flustered monster trying (and failing) to pretend that he wasn't fascinated by his “test subject’s” skill in cooking staple breakfast items, Asgore felt filled with gratitude.

It was oddly serene, cooking with him, exchanging banter and trying to perfect his far too gloopy pancake mix. Sharing a peaceful, inoccuous domestic moment, as though one man hadn’t made a serious attempt on the other’s life less than a day ago. There were moments where Asgore almost forgot about it. He supposed Gaster was trying to do the same.

If the banter would help with that, he would gladly keep it up.

Asgore’s fluffy, evenly cooked pancake landed back on the frying pan, right in the centre.

“There!” he said, pleased as he tipped it onto a plate. “It's simple enough once you've had some practice.”

“Hmph. I've had _plenty_ of practice.” Gaster pouted, determined to keep his awe to himself this time. “Just not with this… technique.”

Asgore decided not to argue, but he did give the monster an incredulous smirk. Gaster bristled as his guest handed the frying pan to him.

“All right, then you'll be fine giving it a try, yes?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Gaster set his jaw and stepped up to the hot plate. He reached for the pan, but thought better of it, and pulled back at the last moment. He summoned his magic instead, and put the two hands to work.

Asgore scoffed. “Cheater!”

Gaster bristled. “I-it’s not cheating!” he snapped, incensed by the human’s harmless comment. “I’m doing exactly as you instructed, and I need the extra control-!”

He quickly shut his mouth when he realised he'd inadvertently admitted that he struggled in the kitchen. Asgore just smiled.

“So,” he said, “cheating then?”

“Oh, bugger off,” he grumbled. He set his magic to the task of cooking so he could better focus on glaring a hole into the human’s face. "I suppose by your logic, I'm also cheating by wearing glasses to see better? And by wearing sweaters in a snowy town, I'm cheating at keeping warm?"

Asgore giggled at him, and as his ire grew, his magic’s movements grew more erratic. While Gaster's attentions were distracted, his hands kept cooking, flipping the pan with greater and greater force each time.

“What’s the matter, doctor?” Asgore teased. “You’re so tense! Does cooking really stress you out that much?”

“Don’t take that tone with me. You do remember you’re lucky I let you live?”

“Oh yes, very much so. I am indeed lucky to be alive to taste the great Doctor Gaster’s charcoal pancakes.”

“ _Don_ _’t condescend me!_ ”

The magic hands flipped the pancake. It landed on the ceiling with a splat. Both men looked up, staring aghast at the explosion of half-cooked batter. Gaster cursed.

“Oh- Bugger!!”

The room was once again filled with Asgore’s laughter. He was ready for it this time, reaching for the counter to better steady himself as he held his aching stomach. He was sure he’d opened a few minor cuts here and there, but hell, it was worth it.

“Don’t laugh!” Gaster barked, face turning a vivid blue. He pointed at the batter dribbling from his ceiling. “That’s your fault!”

“How is it _my_ fault?!” Asgore gasped through his giggles. "You did exactly what I warned you not to!"

“You distracted me!”

“Oh _did_ I?” he smirked.

“Don’t look so damn pleased about it!”

“Well why wouldn’t I be pleased? You were obviously more interested in looking at me than your cooking-”

“ _Oh don_ _’t you dare go there, human._ ”

Asgore chuckled victoriously, the deathly tone in Gaster’s voice enough to satisfy him. With no more banter to feed off of, the doctor turned his back on him and raised his magic hands to scrape the batter off of his ceiling, grumbling all the while. Watching Gaster struggle, Asgore felt suddenly useless, guilty for not being able to help out. He wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the ceiling, and if he tried he was sure he’d tear something. Then Gaster would fuss, and chide him, and he’d stitch him back up and wrap him in new bandages. These were Asgore’s assumptions, but he was sure he wasn’t far from the mark.

Gaster wasn’t the hell-bent murderous persona Asgore had met in Waterfall. He couldn’t be further from it.

“I _do_ appreciate this. I just want to make that clear.” Asgore leaned back against the counter, taking some pressure off of his aching back. “I’ve only gotten by in the Underground thanks to the kindness the monsters have shown me. That includes you.” He looked to him, though the monster wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

Gaster’s lip curled, as though he had tasted something bitter. “Hm. I’ve known you for less than a day, yet why does it not surprise me that you would show gratitude to the man who tried to kill you?”

Asgore quirked a brow and spoke the obvious. “Because you also saved my life.”

“Don’t. I don’t deserve that kind of compassion.”

His smile fell. The stove’s fire still burned, but all warmth was gone from the room.

The doctor supported himself on the counter with both hands a let out a long sigh, back hunched as though burdened. “I apologise,” he said under his breath. “That was uncalled for.”

Asgore shook his head. “It’s quite all right.” He looked to his entwined hands. “You must have been under an immense amount of pressure. Even more stress I’m sure.”

Gaster shot an incredulous look at him over his shoulder. “Showing sympathy for the enemy. Are you _sure_ you’re human?”

His lips quirked into a smile. “I’m quite sure. It takes effort sometimes, but we _are_ capable of empathy you know. Perhaps not as much as monsterkind can be, as I understand it.” He tapped his chin. “I remember reading about monsters being more inclined to kindness because of the magic within them? Something along those lines anyway.”

“Ah, you know about that already?”

“I stopped by the Library on my travels. Oh, sorry, the Librarby.” He chuckled.

Gaster rolled his eyes. “Yes, they still haven’t fixed that damned typo.” His magic gave the pancake another tentative prod. “But yes, keeping things simple, monsters are quite literally made of magic. Human souls can live without compassion, but monster souls can’t. That’s scientific fact!” He flourished with a knowing wave of his finger.

After sifting the finished cake around the pan one more time, Gaster was satisfied. He picked up the serving plate and directed his magic to carefully lower his successful cooking onto the pile.

“Empathy is our life blood,” he said, and Asgore noted his peaceful expression, his lowered eyelids, the slight curve of a smile. “We’re the nicest creatures you’ll ever meet.”

The mirth drained from the doctor’s face when he compared his pancake to Asgore’s. His was clearly crispier and had more burnt bits than Asgore’s perfect fluffy batter cloud.

“Hmph,” Gaster huffed, one hand on his hip and his lips in a firm line. “Even if some of us can’t cook.”

Asgore burst with laughter before he could stop himself. “It’s healthy to be able to admit defeat!”

“Ohh, shut up and eat your pancakes.” Gaster thrust the plate into Asgore’s stomach, and he accepted it with giggled thanks.

He surveyed the damage. His breakfast would comprise of the edible scraps of Gaster’s first attempts, Asgore’s successful attempt, and a slightly torn crispy pancake with burnt bits sprinkled on for flair. Or perhaps these could be considered flavour pockets as well? Asgore didn’t dare ask.

Water spilled forth from a faucet. Utensils, pots and pans clattered unceremoniously into the basin. Asgore watched Gaster as he rolled up his sleeves and set to work. Cleaning the dishes before he had even sat down to eat; this seemed so perfectly in character for him, now he’d gotten to know him a little better. Neat, clean, intelligent, dutiful. A responsible parent. A kind man.

Yet still his thoughts wandered back to cyan magic chasing him, cutting him, opening his flesh. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes for what he had been so sure was the last time.

Now, the memory felt utterly detached from the man in front of him. He watched him bustle about the kitchen, muttering something about his sons waking up for school soon and he’d have to explain to them what a human was doing in their house, and Asgore’s cheeks ached from smiling.

Gaster was right. He _was_ lucky to be alive. Even if it was only for a while longer, he was grateful he had been given the chance to meet the real doctor Gaster.

 


End file.
